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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26747062">Fragments</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillieBean/pseuds/ChillieBean'>ChillieBean</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fixed Point in Time [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game), The Hero of Numbani (Overwatch)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Era, Deadlock Gang, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, F/F, Ficlet Collection, Fictober 2020, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt No Comfort, Karaoke, M/M, Nightmares, Pre-Canon, Psychological Horror, Swearing, Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Undercover Missions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:40:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,860</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26747062</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillieBean/pseuds/ChillieBean</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A singular moment can be life-changing. Traumatic or soothing, the event fragments the path of life, allowing a new one to be lived.</p><p>31 lives, 31 moments.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brigitte Lindholm/Hana "D.Va" Song, Emily/Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Lúcio Correia dos Santos/Genji Shimada, Sombra | Olivia Colomar/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fixed Point in Time [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1221212</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fictober20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. "No, come back!"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Wooo Fictober 2020!!</p><p>Like the previous works in this series, this one is set in the same universe. No prior reading of the fics in this series is required unless specified at the start of the chapter. Ficlet length ~700 words.</p><p>I will be adding characters and tags as I post them. Additional warnings, prompt, and characters will be posted at the start of the chapter also.</p><p>One prompt a day for the duration of October!</p><p>Credit to bloomingjellies for the title of the fic.</p><p>Let's do this!</p><p>Contents:<br/>1. "No, come back!" - Ashe and McCree<br/>2. “That’s the easy part.” - Torbjörn, Ingrid and Brigitte<br/>3. "You did this?" - Echo and Bastion<br/>4. “That didn’t stop you before.” - Zenyatta and Mondatta.<br/>5. “Unacceptable, try again.” - Genji and Hanzo<br/>6. “That was impressive.” - Baptiste, Genji and Lúcio (ft. cameos from Hana and Brigitte.)<br/>7. “Yes I did, what about it?” - Symmetra (ft. cameo from McCree.)<br/>8. "I'm never doing that again." - Jack | Soldier:76<br/>9. "Will you look at this?" - Dr. Harold Winston and Hammond<br/>10. "All I ever wanted." - Orisa and Efi (ft. cameos from Lúcio, Sojourn, and Tracer.)<br/>11. "I told you so." - Nguyen and Mauga<br/>12. "Watch me." - Sojourn and Genji<br/>13. "I missed this." - Winston and Tracer<br/>14. "You better leave now." - Soldier:76, Ana, and Reaper<br/>15. "Not interested, thank you." - Hanzo, Sojiro and Akinjide Adeyemi<br/>16. "I never wanted anything else." - Reinhardt and Balderich<br/>17. "Give me a minute or an hour." - Mei and Angela<br/>18. "You don't see it?" - Moira and Sigma<br/>19. "I can't do this anymore." - Angela<br/>20. "Did I ask?" - Akande and Akinjide (from The Hero of Numbani ft. cameo from Efi.)<br/>21. "This, this makes it all worth it." - Mina and Echo<br/>22. "And neither should you." - Zarya and Lynx Seventeen<br/>23. "Do we have to?" - Hana and Brigitte, MekaMechanic<br/>24. "Are you kidding me?" - Junkrat and the Queen of Junkertown<br/>25. "Sometimes you can even see." - Widowmaker and Sombra, Spiderbyte<br/>26. "How about you trust me for once." - Fareeha and Ana<br/>27. "Give me that." - Roadhog and Junkrat<br/>28. "Do I have to do everything here?" - Sombra (ft. cameos from Widowmaker, Sigma, and Reaper)<br/>29. "Back up!" - Lúcio and Genji, Gencio<br/>30. "Just say it." - Lena and Emily, Emilena<br/>31. "I trust you." - Ashe and McCree</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ashe and McCree</p><p>Warnings: Angst, hurt no comfort.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>Ashe hates it, with every single fibre of her being.</p>
<p>It isn't the fact that the tip was an obvious trap. It isn’t the fact that they’re in custody; this isn’t their first rodeo, after all. </p>
<p>It isn’t the fact that life will never be the same. </p>
<p>Not only do they have Jesse, but the bastard took responsibility for the <em>entire </em>gang. Told them it was his idea, his baby, that he planned every heist, that he roped everyone in under the guise of riches and notoriety.</p>
<p>This is <em>her </em>club, goddamnit. <em> She </em>was the one who made it so successful, who negotiated the treaty with the other clubs. Sure, Jesse provided invaluable experience from being born into the original Deadlock, and without that knowledge, they wouldn’t have succeeded. But for <em>him </em>to claim <em>all </em>of her hard work as his own, <em>erasing</em> all of the blood, sweat and tears she put into it makes her blood boil.</p>
<p>Right now, she is flitting between anger and sorrow so fast she doesn’t know <em>what’s </em>causing the tears. She gulps down air as Jesse soothingly rubs her back, as the guilt of hitting him starts to take hold. It’s not that he didn’t deserve it, he damn well does for agreeing to go with them, it’s that she socked him so hard she busted his lip. </p>
<p>She doesn’t deserve his kindness. If the roles were reversed she probably wouldn't have bothered to say goodbye. Her heart can hardly take this one as it is.</p>
<p>They’ve been through so much together. What Ashe hates the most about all of this is it wasn’t supposed to end like this. They were going to go out in a blaze of glory. If they somehow reached retirement age, they agreed to be each other’s life partner if no one else crossed their paths. </p>
<p>It was all planned out. It isn't supposed to end in a fucking Overwatch interrogation room. </p>
<p>With every breath she takes, she can smell him; his sweat, the stale smoke on his clothes. This will be the last time she’ll breathe in his smell. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>This will be the last time she hears his voice. She grabs fistfuls of his shirt. This will be the last time she’s in his company.</p>
<p>She’s done screaming at him. She’s done trying to talk him down. Whatever they offered him must be amazing. </p>
<p>Taking in a stuttered breath, she rests her head against his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. When they woke up this morning, laughed over breakfast burritos and awful coffee, there wasn’t a traitorous bone in his body. He wouldn’t have made this decision lightly. </p>
<p>But still, he is <em>choosing </em> Overwatch over prison. He’s batting for the other team now, and that makes him the enemy.</p>
<p>“Just go,” she says, the words leaving her mouth without her thinking them. Silence stretches between them, hanging in the air like a heavy fog. “Just go. Please.”</p>
<p>“Liz—”</p>
<p>“No.” She pulls away from him, looking him in the eye. “<em>You’re</em> the one who drew the line in the sand.” Taking a deep breath she takes a step back. He tries to reach for her, she stays out of his grasp. “You chose them, so go.”</p>
<p>“I did it to protect you.”</p>
<p>That statement does nothing but pour gasoline over flames burning within her. “I didn’t <em>need </em>your protection,” she seethes.</p>
<p>Jesse looks ready to break down in tears. Still, he keeps his expression as neutral as he can manage. “I know,” he whispers. Then, he takes his hat off, holding it in his hands. He turns it over once, then twice, before meeting her stare. “Be seeing you, Ashe.” He places the hat on the table, turns and walks away. </p>
<p>Tears spill down her cheeks as he walks out the door. Her eyes drop to his abandoned hat, that stupid, nasty piece of shit she dared him to buy and then never took off. He went <em>everywhere</em> with this thing on his head and now… Now it serves as a neon sign that their time together has come to an end.</p>
<p>“No, come back!” she screams, picking it up and racing to the door. She swings it open with enough force the interrogation room window rattles, and she looks left, then right down the corridor. She can't see Jesse. Anger and resentment settle in the pit of her stomach, she tries to race off but an Overwatch goon holds her in place. She fights his grasp for a moment, but there's no point<b>—</b>Jesse's gone.</p>
<p>She stops resisting, and slowly, cautiously, Overwatch takes his hands off her. She doesn’t run, instead, she looks at the hat in her hands. Turning it over, she sees a slip of paper tucked into the lining. She pulls it out, it simply reads, <em> it's all yours now.</em> </p>
<p>Her world crashes in, she backsteps until she hits the wall. Vision blurring and knees shaking, she can't stay upright, sliding down the wall until she's sitting on the floor, cradling the last piece of him she has.</p>
<p>“Come back,” she sobs. “Come back.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. "That's the easy part."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Torbjörn, Ingrid and Brigitte</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“She’s a tinkerer.”</p>
<p>“Like I need <em> two </em> of you in this house.”</p>
<p>Torbjörn looks on as pride swells in his chest. There was always something special about Brigitte. He shared his workshop with her from the moment they brought her home from the hospital. It started with a crib, then a bouncer. By the time she was two years old, she was soldering. By four, she was welding. </p>
<p>And now, at eight, she’s trying to figure out electronics.</p>
<p>She knows her way around basic circuits. Could build one with her eyes closed. Cybernetics, too, she has a grasp on—Torbjörn has requested her help for minor repairs to his arm multiple times already. She can handle the big stuff, but now, she’s in that exploratory phase, slowly making her way through household appliances to see what makes them tick.</p>
<p>Yesterday it was the iron. Today’s victim is the toaster.</p>
<p>“I would have preferred that she at least pull apart the <em>old </em>toaster," Ingrid says, watching Brigitte on the dining table, the toaster's innards spread on top. "The one in storage we have for <em> whatever </em>reason.”</p>
<p>“You never know when you’ll need a replacement,” Torbjörn replies with a shrug.</p>
<p>Ingrid collects breakfast's dishes sitting on the counter and places them by the sink. “I have a feeling that we’ll be using the replacement sooner rather than later.”</p>
<p>Torbjörn rinses the cup he was scrubbing, placing it on the rack to dry. “Thank you, my love.”</p>
<p>“Don’t think you’re not off the hook with this,” Ingrid says, wagging a finger at him. She is trying to be stern but her eyes betray her. She could never be mad at him <em>or</em> Brigitte. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you encourage her to pull things apart and put them together.”</p>
<p>“It’s how I learned.” Torbjörn picks up a plate, dipping it into the hot, sudsy water. “It’s how Brigitte will learn.”</p>
<p>“Like I said,” Ingrid says, resting against the counter, folding her arms across her chest. “I would have preferred she take apart the old one, not the one I paid almost two hundred credits for.</p>
<p>“Well that was a mistake,” Torbjörn says, chuckling lightly. “We don’t need a toaster that has twenty different settings on it. The thing  should be able to make my morning coffee for that price." He scrubs the plate. "All a toaster needs is a dial for desired cooking time and a lever to push the bread down.”</p>
<p>“How <em> archaic</em>.”</p>
<p>“If it toasts my bread then that’s all that matters.” Torbjörn rinses the plate and lets it dry on the rack. “I could have built you one that did just that.”</p>
<p>Ingrid looks at him, smiling sweetly. “If I waited for you to build me one, then you would have <em> nothing </em> to cook your bread." Then she cups his face. “Make sure my toaster ends up back in one piece.” She kisses him on the forehead and leaves the kitchen, brushing her fingers on the top of Brigitte’s head as she walks past.</p>
<p>Torbjörn huffs a laugh, washing the last of the dishes. He glances at Brigitte now and then, checking on how she’s doing. She has every component laid out in front of her, methodically lined up in the order they were removed. There are a lot of parts inside this toaster with its crumpet setting that no one ever uses. </p>
<p>She stares at the pieces, then the empty chassis. Torbjörn cannot help but smile; when Brigitte is intently concentrating on something, she looks like Ingrid. It’s a good thing she takes after her mother and not him.</p>
<p>Finishing up in the kitchen, Torbjorn stands beside Brigitte. “How’s it going?”</p>
<p>“I’ve pulled it apart, but I’m having trouble getting this to fit.” She holds up a circuit board, it definitely doesn’t go where she thinks. He’ll let her stew on it a little longer—she won’t accept help if it’s offered.</p>
<p>“Well taking it apart,” Torbjörn says with a chuckle, “that’s the easy part.” He kisses the top of her head. “But I know you’ll get there.”</p>
<p>Brigitte looks up at him with her big, brown eyes. “Can you please help me, papa?”</p>
<p>Taking a seat next to her, Torbjörn smiles wide. “Of course, my sweet girl.” He glances at Ingrid on the couch. When their eyes meet, she silently mouths, <em> thank you.</em></p>
<p>With a smile, he turns his attention back to the circuit. “The solution to your problem is, it goes here…”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. "You did this?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Echo and Bastion</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Echo was re-activated on that dusty, fateful day and saw Jesse’s face, she was <em>happy.</em></p>
<p>Immediately, though, she realised some time had passed since being deactivated. Jesse was older—he had wrinkles in places he didn’t have before. He was maturer, he spoke softer, gentler. She knew something big must have happened to <em>change </em>him, and she knew it had something to do with Overwatch when he said he wasn’t joining them.</p>
<p>Once the dust—the <em>ice, </em>she recalls with a light chuckle—had settled in Paris, and the bold declaration that Overwatch was back had been made, she felt like she was home again.</p>
<p>But when she saw what had become of Overwatch after she was deactivated, she was sickened. Watchpoint: Gibraltar was her home for a long time, and now, almost a decade later, it was nothing more than an abandoned, derelict base. Luckily she didn’t need a place to sleep, but everyone else who had joined their cause took it upon themselves to update the barracks while they stayed in hotels in the city. </p>
<p>Over time, the base started to resemble its former glory. More people joined, their complement increased with faces, old and new. It started to feel like it did a decade before.</p>
<p>But this Overwatch was different. It wasn’t run with military precision. Instead, it had one goal in mind—protect human and omnic lives alike from threats like Null Sector and Talon. As time went on, the base felt less like a base and more like home. The people are less like comrades and more like family.</p>
<p>Not long ago they took on an omnic. An old bastion unit which had apparently evolved beyond its programming to kill. Despite Torbjörn’s reassurances that it wasn’t like the notorious units of past, she was tasked to keep an eye on it. She understood the weight of the request; the last time people saw Bastion units was at a time of war. Bastion units held the front line, they were lethal, precise, efficient. While no one has mistreated Bastion, their apprehension is palpable.</p>
<p>Bastion, for the moment, is confined to the base. Echo believes that might be permanent; Torbjörn explained how people reacted when they saw it in the forest—the world right now isn’t ready to see a Bastion unit without it bringing up those deep-rooted memories of terror. It’s a shame because Bastion is one of the kindest, gentlest omnics she has ever met.</p>
<p>But alas, the world isn’t yet ready.</p>
<p>Bastion mostly keeps to itself. While it is free to roam the base, it mostly stays in its room. Recently, though, it has been busy. A secret, Bastion told her, and whatever it is, it's not yet ready for everyone to see. While she has respected Bastion's wishes, she has noticed the dirt in the hinges of its fingers and the deliveries of seeds. While not a hard conclusion to come to, she hasn’t seen what Bastion has been up to.</p>
<p>Until now, that is.</p>
<p>She looks at the garden in front of her in pure awe. From sunflowers to daisies to various herbs to the fledgeling lemon tree, it's more than Echo ever expected from Bastion. </p>
<p>“You did this?” Echo's gaze shifts to Bastion. “All by yourself?”</p>
<p>
  <em>I did. This place was barren. It needed greenery. </em>
</p>
<p>“It was, and it did. Bastion, I’m—I’m <em> impressed</em>.”</p>
<p>
  <em> Do you think they will like it? There are some herbs growing too, parsley, basil, rosemary. And some more space if they wanted to cultivate their own vegetables.</em>
</p>
<p>Echo smiles. Everyone on base has kept their distance from Bastion, and Bastion still made this for <em>them</em>. “They will love this.”</p>
<p>
  <em> I am thinking of installing a bench, or a table and chairs so everyone to enjoy this space. Unfortunately, I will not be able to order those in without them knowing the garden is here. </em>
</p>
<p>“Would you like to show them?”</p>
<p>Baston nods. <em> Can you come with me? </em></p>
<p>Echo holds out her hand and Bastion takes it. Ganymede settles on its shoulder.</p>
<p>“Of course.” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. "That didn't stop you before."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Zenyatta and Mondatta</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There's no Zenyatta lore so I made my own 😤</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Zenyatta was made, it was for the sole purpose of tailoring clothing for the rich.</p>
<p>He worked in a factory for twelve hours a day, seven days a week, in Western London with fifty other omnics. Zenyatta specialised in custom-made suits<span>—a</span> work request would be lodged with a person’s measurements, along with their choice of fabric and colour of the suit they wished to wear, and Zenyatta would make it. He enjoyed the job immensely—it was all he was programmed for, after all.</p>
<p>Soon after, his outlook on the world changed. There were rumblings about Null Sector, an omnic group seeking equal rights to humans. Another omnic in the warehouse frequently attended their meetings. It was all he talked about during working hours, and he convinced more of his to go.</p>
<p>But as Null Sector started to gain traction, it became clear that they were fanatical. They wanted their demands met, by <em>any</em> means necessary. Zenyatta considered himself lucky—his working conditions and pay were adequate compared to his omnic siblings who work in manufacturing roles. He doesn't stand in front of a smelter all day, he isn't contracted to work eighteen-hour shifts.</p>
<p>Before every Null Sector meeting, Zenyatta was asked if he would be attending, and every time, Zenyatta resisted. He was told, over and over again, that he should stand with his omnic siblings who work in those harsher conditions, who don’t have a voice to speak out, and that by resisting, he was <em>against</em> them.</p>
<p>Right now, Zenyatta is at a crossroads. He doesn’t want trouble but Null Sector is growing more vocal, more dangerous. At the warehouse today, there were hushed whispers of an <em>attack.</em> Zenyatta couldn't get more information because they refrain from talking in his presence. Whatever this attack is, it's likely imminent, but he is wrestling with the notion of informing the police. They haven’t been the most friendly towards omnics and getting the police involved could result in brutality towards his omnic siblings, but he is worried that innocent lives could be lost in the coming days.</p>
<p>Could he betray his own kind?</p>
<p>It’s a question that weighs heavy on his mind as he sits at this bar. It’s quiet, given it's a Friday night, but it is a testament to just many have succumbed to Null Sector's <em>preachings</em> considering a meeting is on now. </p>
<p>“It is a quiet evening.”</p>
<p>Zenyatta glances left at the omnic seated next to him; he doesn't recognise them. “Indeed.” He turns his attention to his drink, he’s not in the mood for small talk.</p>
<p>“This is my first time in London,” the omnic says. “It is… not what I imagined.”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t always like this. Now...” Zenyatta picks up his glass. “Now I barely recognise it.”</p>
<p>“Such is the way of the world. It is like sand, ever-shifting, never stationary. But we will get through this.”</p>
<p>Zenyatta sighs, imagining a time when he was overflowing with such optimism. “How do you know?”</p>
<p>“The world has persevered through much. It will preserve again."</p>
<p><em>Will</em> the world persevere? It seems unlikely right now. With a shrug, Zenyatta takes a sip of his drink. </p>
<p>"I sense a disquiet within you."</p>
<p>“You don’t say,” Zenyatta scoffs.</p>
<p>“Empty your mind. I am willing to listen.”</p>
<p>Casting a critical eye over the stranger, Zenyatta notices they are wearing robes. So who <em>are </em>they, then? A travelling person of faith, listening to the complaints of strangers who are displeased with their lives?</p>
<p>Can he trust the wisdom of a stranger in these darkened times? Right now, it seems like his only option. </p>
<p>Zenyatta gives the stranger his full attention. “I am at an impasse. I do not believe the path of my siblings is the right one, yet I cannot betray them. I’ve watched their hatred fester and I am concerned they have reached a point of no return.”</p>
<p>“Hatred grows from ignorance.” </p>
<p>“This city is unkind to omnics. I do not believe they are on the correct path, but their actions are not unjustified.”</p>
<p>“Quite the dilemma indeed,” the stranger says quietly. “How long have you been aware of this hatred?”</p>
<p>Zenyatta looks at his drink as his own shame takes hold. “Months.”</p>
<p>“That didn’t stop you before.” There is a pause, and Zenyatta meets the stranger’s gaze. “Why now?”</p>
<p>“Guilt.”</p>
<p>“A powerful motivator.” The stranger reaches out, placing a hand on Zenyatta’s shoulder. Zenyatta feels awash with warmth, radiating outward from his shoulder throughout his body.</p>
<p>Was this all he needed? The ear of a stranger to confess his guilt to give him the clarity he was sorely after?</p>
<p>The stranger takes back his hand. “I am sure you will make the correct decision.” Then they stand, bow their head, and walk away.</p>
<p>“Wait,” Zenyatta calls out. The stranger stops but doesn’t turn around. “Who are you?”</p>
<p>Looking over their shoulder, the stranger says, “Tekhartha Mondatta.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. "Unacceptable, try again."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Genji and Hanzo</p><p>Warnings: minor blood and injury</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Unacceptable. Try again.”</p><p>Genji hates sparring.</p><p>Elder Makoto says that he and Hanzo need to excel at hand-to-hand combat despite the fact that they are able to kill without being noticed. It might be something he enjoyed doing <em>if </em>his opponent was literally anyone other than Hanzo.</p><p><em> Perfect </em> Hanzo. With his <em>perfect </em>grades and his <em>perfect </em>teeth. His entire life he has had everything handed to him on a silver platter. Praised by everyone—father, the elders, his teachers. All Genji gets from them is disdain, a nickname he despises, and bruises from these fucking sparring sessions.</p><p>Picking himself up from the ground, Genji raises his arms to block Hanzo’s attack, bouncing on the balls of his feet. At this stage, he couldn’t give a shit about katas and ninjutsu. He can feel the swelling in his right eye and come tomorrow, he’ll be lucky if he can see out of it.</p><p>At least Elder Makoto has gotten off his back about correct stances. </p><p>Hanzo strikes and Genji deflects his blow. Genji cannot help but smirk as anger flashes over Hanzo’s face. Hanzo tries again, his right arm swinging wide to hit Genji’s side. Genji sees it from a mile away, deflects it, but Hanzo punches him with his other fist, straight in the jaw. Genji stumbles backwards, saving himself from crashing onto the mat.</p><p>“Unacceptable. Try again.”</p><p>Narrowing his eyes, Genji commits that to memory. Hanzo’s not one to be so unrestrained, resorting to <em>archaic </em>tactics—Elder Makoto's words—to land a blow. Genji has been scolded enough times for it and yet there is not a single word said to Hanzo about it.</p><p>Typical.</p><p>Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Genji raises his arms again. He won’t let Hanzo do that again, that’s for sure. So he waits, dancing in a circle with Hanzo staring him down. Moments pass, Hanzo doesn’t make a move so Genji seizes the opportunity, swinging to elicit a reaction. Hanzo deflects the blow and retaliates with his own swinging punch but this time, Genji grabs hold of Hanzo’s arm, and in a split second, turns his body so his back is facing Hanzo’s chest, and lifts him over his shoulder. Hanzo crashes onto the mat and Genji places his foot on Hanzo’s throat. He doesn’t apply pressure but the message is there.</p><p>Elder Makoto sighs deeply. “Unacceptable, try again.”</p><p>Genji pulls his foot away, he offers a hand to Hanzo. Hanzo looks at it for a moment like its a serpent ready to strike before shaking his head and taking his hand. Genji pulls him up to standing and they separate.</p><p>Just as Genji readies himself, Hanzo attacks. There’s a ferocity behind his blows, an anger Genji hasn’t truly witnessed before. The first one gets him in the gut, so hard he’s winded. The second, a palm strike to his nose which sends him careening backwards, then lastly, Hanzo sweeps his legs, sending him crashing onto the mat.</p><p>Pain blooms from Genji’s nose, he can taste blood. A quick press confirms it’s not broken. </p><p>Not this time, at least.</p><p>Hanzo stands over him, grinning smugly. He offers his hand, but before Genji takes it, Elder Makoto steps into view, frowning deeply. </p><p>“Not good enough,” Elder Makoto seethes. “We’re done for tonight. Get yourself cleaned up before you stain the mats.” He tosses Genji’s towel at him before walking away.</p><p>Rolling his eyes, his gaze settles back on Hanzo, then his offered hand. Genji takes it, and he’s pulled to standing. Hanzo cups his face, tilting his head back to take a look at his damage. </p><p>“Sorry,” Hanzo says quietly, like the very words uttered are a sign of weakness. “Let me help you.”</p><p>Genji just nods, pressing his towel to his nose. He walks beside Hanzo and despite this act of hidden kindness, there is only one thing on Genji’s mind.</p><p>
  <em> Perfect fucking Hanzo. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. "That was impressive!"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Baptiste, Genji and Lúcio (ft. cameos from Hana and Brigitte &amp; the MEKA squad)</p>
<p>Warnings: contains pre-established Gencio and MekaMechanic</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite it being one of Baptiste’s worst nightmares, he is enjoying the night.</p>
<p>He’s in Busan with Genji, Lúcio, Hana, Brigitte, and Winston. They’re meeting with the Korean Government in a sharing of information; strategies on how to handle the ever-increasing Null Sector threat mostly, but Winston is hoping the government will put in a good word on their behalf to the United Nations to have the Petras Act repealed. They already have France’s backing, and a second country will make their case stronger.</p>
<p>After three days spent talking with government officials and touring hospitals eyeing the latest healing technology, it is their last night in Busan and Baptiste can finally relax. While Winston opted to stay back at the hotel, Hana invited her Meka squad out with the rest of them. They had dinner at the most amazing restaurant which had the best Korean food Baptiste has ever tasted, they went to an exclusive club to dance the evening away, but after getting bored of that, they're now in Baptiste’s nightmare.</p>
<p>Karaoke.</p>
<p>It’s not that he <em>hates </em>it. He enjoys <em>watching </em>everyone belt out a tune that can be described as flat at best. There’s enough alcohol between them that it takes the enjoyment to a whole new level. </p>
<p>It was easy dodging his turn in front of the microphone to start with. Much to his surprise, the first up was Brigitte—she’s usually quiet and reserved on base, even a little shy, but with a little alcohol in her system, she's a completely different person. As soon as she saw that microphone in the middle of the room, she leapt for it. Immediately picking a song, she was energetic, she knew how to get everyone in the mood, and her openness, her openly flirtatious actions and words to Hana took Baptiste a little bit by surprise.</p>
<p>She pulled Hana up in the middle of the song, finishing that song before they sang another; some Korean pop band Baptiste had never heard of. After that, Hana partnered up with <em> each </em> of her old squad. The highlight was classically trained Yuna, while Dae-hyun was the definite lowlight, every note hit flat, but Baptiste had to give him points for his energy.</p>
<p>Genji and Lúcio demanded a turn after that, searching the entire catalogue until they found 'I Wanna Dance With Somebody' by Whitney Houston. They sang their hearts out but given their inebriated states, they couldn't reach the required pitch of the song to call it good.  Genji, who <em> claimed </em> he was the karaoke king, had clearly overstated his talents, and Lúcio apologised, revealing <em>that</em> as the reason he doesn't sing on his tracks. </p>
<p>Much to Baptiste’s delight, they stayed up there another three pitchy yet flat songs.</p>
<p>But now, all eyes are on Baptiste.</p>
<p>It’s not that he <em> can’t </em> sing. There’s no way he can be as bad as Dae-hyun. There’s just a lot of people here watching him and he’s not nearly drunk enough to give a shit.</p>
<p>“Just get up there,” Genji says, throwing a cushion at him. Baptiste catches it. “No one cares.”</p>
<p>“Seriously,” Lúcio adds. “We’re all friends.”</p>
<p>Then, from beside him, he hears clapping. </p>
<p>“Baptiste!” Brigitte chants.</p>
<p>Then, the next thing Baptiste knows, the entire room is saying his name.</p>
<p>Knowing they won’t stop unless he stands in front of that microphone, he sighs deeply, reluctantly pulls himself up to his feet. The chanting stops only to be replaced with cheering and Baptiste looks through the extensive catalogue.</p>
<p>“Hmm..." Baptiste flicks through the pages quickly. Nothing stands out. "No, I don’t sing.”</p>
<p>“Just pick one,” Genji says. “Anything!”</p>
<p>“Can I dance instead?”</p>
<p>“No!” Lúcio shouts, giggling into Genji’s shoulder as Genji throws a pretzel at him. </p>
<p>Taking a breath, he settles on a piece of music that has a simple repeating beat. He might be able to get away with it. A few seconds into the song, though, humming the tune, he is hit with <em> inspiration</em>. “I'm getting it, I'm getting it! Give me a second.” He’s not sure it’s coherent or that it makes sense, but he rattles off <em> words </em> and thankfully those words rhyme into a semi-decent rap about his kit. He exhales when he finishes, wiping his brow. "Oh man, I'm out of breath!"</p>
<p>He turns to face them and they look back at him in stunned silence.</p>
<p>“That…” Genji says after a long moment, smiling wide. “That was impressive!”</p>
<p>“Hell yeah, it was!” Hana says, folding her arms across her chest and smirking smugly. “And you didn’t want to go up there.”</p>
<p>Baptiste grins, bowing before he sits back down on the couch with a sigh. He picks up his beer bottle as Genji steps back up in front of the microphone, replaying the same music Baptiste played. </p>
<p>“Feast your ears on this masterpiece…”</p>
<p>Lúcio nudges Baptiste from beside him. “More like <em>cover</em> your ears,” he murmurs with a wink.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>with the release of Baptiste's karaoke voice line, i couldn't *not* write something about it XD</p>
<p>and thanks to blooming for picking Genji's and Lúcio's karaoke song and to robo for agreeing that it would be a disaster XD &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. "Yes I did, what about it?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Satya (ft. cameo from McCree)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This most definitely <em>isn’t</em> a typical evening.</p><p>Satya doesn’t usually partake in undercover missions. She much prefers the comfort of the control room: overseeing operations, watching events unfold in real-time, and directing the team to safety.</p><p>Being on the ground has its own challenges that she doesn’t particularly enjoy. <em> Mingling</em>, for one. So far tonight, she has been <em>forced</em> to talk with five strangers so far in passing <em>small talk </em>about the weather or the state of the world, indulging these hyper-rich people when they gloat about buying their third yacht. Her cheeks hurt from the fake smiling and she is getting dangerously close to her social limit.</p><p>On top of that, her partner for this mission is McCree. He is definitely not her favourite person to be around—he says things which sound sweet but is in truth venomous, and <em>somehow</em> people think it's charming. While she has found it difficult to get a read on him and his motivations he is an asset to Overwatch given he is competent and skilful in these kinds of scenarios.</p><p>At the very least, they are not <em>partners </em>on this mission. There have been many undercover missions in the past where the duo sent in are told to pretend to be dating or married to allow for a level of closeness that might otherwise be seen as too close for strangers. This one thankfully requires them to cover the exits of the room so they are required to stay apart.</p><p>The very thought of being <em>that</em> close to McCree, with her arm linked around his as they talk about their fake life, sends a shiver down her spine.</p><p>Despite the mingling required for this mission, it is somewhat enjoyable. This is a black-tie event and she doesn’t get to dress up often. She is wearing a white ankle-length column dress and heels, her hair is done up in a tight bun. She cannot help the smile that blooms on her lips; it has been a long time since she dressed up this formal.</p><p>This evening has been uneventful for the most part. They are here on behalf of the French Government to arrest Cauldwell Hollingsworth who has links to Null Sector. After the attack in Paris which Overwatch stopped, the French Government has sought their help nullifying Null Sector presence from the country. In return, they are advocating for the return of Overwatch to legal status.</p><p>Satya scans the ballroom. It’s a birthday party for some billionaire she doesn't care for, whose fortune ties back to his grandfather's mining company. This whole affair is extravagant, exorbitant, and unnecessary. She will never truly understand the need for people with this much wealth to show it off in such a heinous manner while parts of the world live in poverty. </p><p>She sees McCree on the opposite side of the room, mingling with another man. Despite the fact that he is carrying a conversation, his eyes are on the rest of the room. Her gaze shifts, focusing on omnics until she spots Hollingsworth by the bar. She watches him for a moment, he takes a sip of his drink as he looks around the room.</p><p>Then their eyes meet. She looks away, keeping him in her peripheral vision, but when he places his drink down and, on the quicker side of casual, steps into an adjoining room, she knows she's been spotted. Lightly coughing into her hand to alert McCree, she follows Hollingsworth. Glancing over the faces of the people and omnics in this room she cannot see him, so she continues into the next room, darkened and empty.</p><p>She sees movement from the corner of her eye. It's Hollingsworth, and he is holding something in his hand. Acting on instinct she ducks just as a gunshot goes off, narrowly missing her head. Screams and shouts carry from behind her as Hollingsworth aims again. On impulse, she falls the quickest way she knows how—by doing the splits. </p><p>As that bullet whizzes by her, she is thankful that she opted for a dress with a thigh-high slit.</p><p>Hollingsworth looks down at her, head tilted to the side. Then he tries to run but she curls a hand around his ankle and he falls to the ground. He resists but she reaches forward, grabbing his arm and pinning it behind his back. He fights for a moment but when he realises that it is futile, he sighs and stops struggling, dropping the gun. She tosses it away from him and pulls his other arm behind his back.</p><p>“Jesus, Satya, are you okay?”</p><p>Satya glances over her shoulder at McCree and smirks. “I have him.”</p><p>“I can see,” McCree replies. Then he frowns. “Did you dodge that bullet by doing the splits?”</p><p>“Yes I did, what about it?”</p><p>“Well," he says with a light chuckle, "I gotta say, it was a pretty badass move.” He takes a step forward. “Need a hand?”</p><p>“I've got this,” Satya replies, placing a knee over Hollingworth’s pinned arms. She makes a pair of hard light cuffs and restrains him, then pulls him to standing. “Now I believe the mission is complete and I would like to get out of here.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wholly inspired by Anjali Bhimani's #SeptemberSplits tweets, as well as That One Glamorous Shot. We stan a Queen!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. "I'm not doing that again."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jack | Soldier:76</p>
<p>Warnings: minor blood and injury, hurt no comfort</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jack wakes with a start.</p>
<p>His breaths are quick and shallow, everything is dark, and the harsh scent of smoke is heavy in the air, stinging his eyes. Realising he is lying down, he sits up and winces, his head pounds like a jackhammer.</p>
<p>With a groan, he tries to take in his darkened surroundings. It’s night outside, the windows are blown out, the roof on the south side of his office has collapsed. As fear and anxiety settles heavily in his gut, he tries to remember what happened before this—he barely had five minutes to eat lunch before his a call with Angela in Gibraltar, and as soon as it ended, Gabe stormed into his office—</p>
<p>“Gabe,” Jack murmurs, pulling himself up. He staggers, a sudden, excruciating pain flares on his leg, and he holds onto his upended desk for support as he eyes the piece of twisted metal sticking out of his calf. Taking deep breaths, he takes hold of it, and in one quick motion, he yanks it out. Groaning, he drops it to the ground, ignoring the deep throbbing as he searches for Gabe underneath the rubble. His leg can wait, Gabe might not have the time.</p>
<p>But as he searches through the rubble, he finds no trace of Gabe. </p>
<p>Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries to recall their conversation, but all he can think about is all the times they've butted heads over the last few months. Their relationship had fractured after the Venice incident, and with each barb traded, those cracks grew deeper, showing no sign of stopping. </p>
<p>Soon enough it started affecting his work—the stunt in London nearly cost him his job. McCree left soon after, and Gabe utterly reeled from that loss. In the weeks after, Gabe refused to listen to orders, he went over Jack’s head to request a mission <em>after </em> Jack had denied it—</p>
<p><em> That </em>was why Gabe was in his office—Jack had told him that he had been taken off active duty and to take some of the leave he had saved up to clear his head but he was completely unhinged, rambling about how Overwatch had rotted from the inside and it was time he cleared that rot—</p>
<p>And then, the explosion.</p>
<p>Jack places a hand over his mouth, keeping the tide of nausea at bay. </p>
<p>Gabe did this.</p>
<p>No, it can’t be real. Gabe had issues he was dealing with, anyone under his circumstances would, but he wouldn’t kill innocent people to prove a point. </p>
<p>He searches his office again, shifting what he can, but it's all in vain. Growling as he throws a chunk of concrete across his office, he places his hands behind his head and forces down air. He recalls those final moments before everything went dark, the deep rumble in his floor, Gabe's twisted, maniacal grin.</p>
<p>No, Gabe wasn't suicidal, he didn't die in this explosion. He’s out there, somewhere.</p>
<p>Jack’s only thought right now is to chase after him. Someone has to bring him to justice, make him answer for the crimes he committed. He heads to his door, pulling the powerless panel from the wall and exposing the manual release, but stops with his hand on the lever. </p>
<p>No. His priority should be to help those still trapped inside. Get his people out first before chasing Gabe.</p>
<p>But then what? Jack knows that <em>he</em> will have to answer for all of this. There will be endless tribunals. Countless funerals. Infinite ropes of red tape in his way. <em> If </em>he goes out there, any chance of hunting Gabe down dies.</p>
<p>Reluctantly, he pulls his hand away slowly from the lever. He feels sick to his stomach as he makes his way to the blown-out window. People may die because he is choosing to run. But to do this, he has to let them go. He has to let go of <em>everything </em>that he knows—his morality, his conscience, his values. </p>
<p>Jack Morrison, Overwatch Hero, has to die in this building.</p>
<p>Looking at the pavement five stories below, Jack takes a deep breath. On instinct, his leg swells with pain. Landing from this height is going to kick his ass. But at least, there is no one on the ground, so he can make his escape. With a sigh, he shrugs out of his jacket, ripping it apart at the seams. Using a strip as a makeshift bandage, he ties it around his leg tightly. This way, at least, he won’t immediately bleed out.</p>
<p>Swallowing thickly and without any thought, Jack leaps out of the building. He lands solidly on his feet, but it takes all of his strength not to scream out in pain. He falls to his knees, taking in slow, deep breaths until it subsides.</p>
<p>He stands slowly, cautiously. He casts his eye over the destroyed building. Maybe Gabe was right about it rotting from the inside. Jack turned a blind eye on the corruption, not even realising how bad it had gotten until it had become entrenched within the organisation. He should have called it out. He should have fought harder.</p>
<p>As the bile rises, he gives one last glance to his office. He promises himself that he won’t let more innocents die. He won’t let injustice go unpunished.</p>
<p>“I’m never doing that again,” he murmurs into the night, turning his back on everything he once knew. “<em>Never </em> again.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. "Will you look at this?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Dr. Harold Winston and Hammond</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Early upload cause I won't be at my computer tonight</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dr. Harold Winston sighs, looking at Hammond’s empty cage.</p><p>“Why do we bother,” he mutters. “Between the gorillas refusing to cooperate and you who won’t stay confined…” Sighing heavily, he takes his glasses off, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.</p><p>To say that the last week has been a challenge would be an understatement. It isn’t just Simon who isn’t listening, he’s pulled in Hypatia too. She was sweet, once upon a time; gentle, caring, kind. Now she destroys everything she can get her hands on. Harold is fearful of his team when they have sessions with her, it's only a matter of time before that violence is directed towards them.</p><p>Harold doesn’t know what to do about it, though. He can’t keep them confined to their quarters for the rest of their lives. They deserve much better than that.</p><p>And it’s only a matter of time before Simon's anger reaches the rest of the subjects. Harold is starting to notice the signs, the listlessness in their eyes that he noted in Simon and Hypatia. So far, the only one of them who has remained unchanged over time is Winston.</p><p>If they manage to turn Winston against him, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.</p><p>Swallowing down the rising ball of sadness, he places his glasses back on. There’s no point dwelling on it, it’s not like he wasn’t warned to not get attached to the subjects but how could he not? They’re all unique, they have personalities, he talks to all of them daily.</p><p>As he begins his search for Hammond, he hears his old supervisor’s words echo in his mind: <em>Don’t give them names. Names lead to attachments, attachments lead to disappointments.</em></p><p>He huffs a sardonic laugh. Those words haven’t stung like they do right now.</p><p>Making his way to Simon’s door, he peers through the window to check how he’s doing. Frowning when he doesn’t see him anywhere, he's ready to open the door when suddenly, Simon's face appears in the glass.</p><p>Harold jumps, taking a step back. Simon pounds on the door and Harold raises his hands. Slowly, he approaches the intercom beside the door. “I’m sorry,” he says. “This is only temporary. You’ll be out soon. I promise.” </p><p>Simon stops banging, he moves backwards slowly. After an intense staredown, Simon moves to his bed, lying on it. </p><p>Letting out a breath he didn't realise he was holding, Harold pulls away from the intercom. Simon might not listen to his team, but at the very least he listens to him.</p><p>Continuing his search, Ellie and Dyson’s rooms are hamster free, and they’re both asleep on their beds. The next room is Winston’s, and peering through the window, he sees Winston asleep at his desk. Again.</p><p>Smiling softly, he watches Winston for a moment. He’s always working, tinkering, thinking. This isn’t the first time he’s seen Winston asleep his desk and it won’t be the last. As he’s about to leave, he catches a flare of orange contrasting against Winston’s dark fur. Then, a round little ear, a tiny snout.</p><p>“There you are,” he murmurs, opening Winston’s door. He walks slowly, quietly, over to Winston, watching Hammond trying to make himself comfortable in the crook of his elbow.</p><p>“Will you look at this?” he whispers. He pulls his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture. “Sorry little guy, but you’ve got to stop escaping.” Carefully, he picks up Hammond, placing him in the crook of his elbow and placing a protective hand on top.</p><p>With one last glance at Winston, Harold leaves his room, closing the door behind him. He makes his way past the other rooms, past Simon who eyes him from the window in the door, and back into Hammond’s room. He places Hammond on his bed in his cage and moves his little gorilla toy closer.</p><p>“Any other circumstance and I’d leave you, but—” he blinks, seeing the commotion in the break room yesterday flash in his mind. He’s not sure what Simon might do to Hammond if he got his hands on him. “All subjects are confined to quarters, and that means you. Please, <em>please</em> stay here.”</p><p>Hammond looks up at him with those big, bright eyes. Then he sniffles closer to his favourite toy.</p><p>Inhaling and exhaling deeply, he locks Hammond's cage and leaves his room. He opts not to go past Simon’s room, even though that’s the quickest route to his office.</p><p>Harold's never been scared of his subjects, but right now, he’s <em>terrified</em> of Simon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The original idea was wholesome but I couldn't get it to co-operate. Reading about the history of Horizon Lunar Colony and filling in a blank came across much easier.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. "All I ever wanted."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Orisa and Efi (ft. cameos from Lucio, Sojourn and Tracer)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This picks up right where The Hero of Numbani finished. No worries if you haven't read/finished it, this a spoiler-free interpretation of What Happens Next.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Where are we going?”</p>
<p>Orisa looks down at Efi, then glances at her father sitting opposite. His arms are folded across his chest, he doesn’t look pleased with the rushed nature of this <em>emergency</em>. Orisa, of course, tried to tell Efi's parents that Efi would be safe with her, but her father refused to let Efi go and meet these <em>strangers </em>alone, despite already knowing where they were going and who they were meeting.</p>
<p>The tram car rocks gently as they take a turn. Orisa gives Efi her full attention. “I will explain further once we are airborne.”</p>
<p>Efi <em>tsks</em>. “Orisa,” she pleads, “I <em>can’t</em> wait.”</p>
<p>“We are headed to the airport. I will explain further once we are airborne.”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Efi huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.</p>
<p>Orisa would give anything to tell Efi about the wonderful surprises that await her on the chartered plane, but she was sworn to secrecy. Even though Doomfist has been driven out of Numbani for the moment, Orisa’s new friends suspect that Efi is being monitored. Orisa is more than capable of dealing will deal with it should the need arise, especially with her new fusion driver, but she kept that little fact from Efi's parents. They would probably forbid Efi from leaving the house if they found out.</p>
<p>They sit in silence for the rest of the journey to the airport. Inside the terminal, Efi’s excitement is higher as she looks at the departures board to see which of the dozen listed flights is the one they are taking. Despite Efi's excitement, Orisa does notice the way she glances around every now and then. The terror of the destruction of this freshly rebuilt terminal is still in everyone’s minds, including Efi it seems.</p>
<p>Heading through the departure lounge, Efi’s steps are quicker. Her eyes are on the planes parked on the tarmac, refuelling and loading and unloading passengers. When they stop at Gate 28, and Efi eyes settle on the small private jet waiting for them, she frowns.</p>
<p>“We’re flying on <em> that?</em>” Efi asks.</p>
<p>Orisa looks at the white aircraft, then back at Efi. “It is a plane, is it not?”</p>
<p>“Well, yeah, but I was expecting <em> that </em> one.” Efi points to the closest commercial jet.</p>
<p>“This one is private,” a familiar voice says from behind them. Orisa turns as Efi jumps on the spot, hands over her mouth as she eyes Lúcio. “<em>Much </em> better than flying commercial.” He outstretches his arms and falls to his knees. “Hello, Efi.”</p>
<p>Efi wraps her arms around Lúcio’s neck. “Hello.” After a moment, she pulls away, glancing to the plane. “Is this yours?”</p>
<p>“Sure is. And there’s someone on there who wants to meet you.”</p>
<p>Efi’s eyes light up. “Who?” </p>
<p>Chuckling lightly, Lúcio stands and outstretches his hand. “Why don’t we find out?”</p>
<p>Lúcio and Efi walk through the door and onto the tarmac, Orisa following behind. Her father organises the tickets and joins them, falling into step beside Orisa. He doesn’t say anything as they approach the plane, but the smile on his lips is telling enough. </p>
<p>The rear cargo door opens and the ramp descends. Efi bounces by Lúcio’s side as they step onto the plane, past his equipment, and into the cabin. A grey-haired person sits with their back towards them, and once the hatch is closed, she turns around.</p>
<p>Efi <em>screams</em>.</p>
<p>Sojourn grins. She waits for Efi to calm down before saying, “It’s nice to meet you too, Efi. I’ve heard so much about you.”</p>
<p>“I’ve heard so much about you too!” Efi replies.</p>
<p>“Please, take a seat,” Sojourn says, gesturing to the seats. “We’re about to take off.”</p>
<p>“Sure are!” A familiar British voice calls from the cockpit. “As you’ll see, the seatbelt light is now turned on.”</p>
<p>Efi gasps, eyes firmly on the front of the plane. “Is that Tracer?!”</p>
<p>Tracer’s head appears from behind the seat, she gives a salute. “Good afternoon, Efi. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”</p>
<p>“You too,” Efi says, voice high pitched and hands on her cheeks.</p>
<p>“Make yourself comfy. I’ll come out for a chat when we’re in the air.”</p>
<p>Nodding, Efi falls into the seat. Her hands shake as she fastens her seatbelt, her elbow knocks against Lucio's. She looks at him and smiles, then she meets Orisa’s gaze. “<em>T</em><em>his </em> is why you couldn’t say anything.”</p>
<p>Orisa nods. “Surprise.”</p>
<p>Efi smiles, big and brimming, turning her attention to Sojourn. “I can’t believe this is happening. You were—<em>are </em>my hero. Tracer, Lúcio, all of you, and you’re <em> here!</em>”</p>
<p>“We are,” Sojourn says. “And we need your help. <em> If </em> you want to help, that is.”</p>
<p>“It’s…” Efi's eyes well with tears. “It’s all I ever wanted.”</p>
<p>Sojourn smiles softly. “In that case," she slides over a tablet, "here are the mission details…”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. "I told you so."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nguyen and Mauga</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nguyen sighs deeply, reading Mauga’s chart: Concussion, cracked ribs, broken leg, numerous lacerations. He tunes in and out of Mauga’s conversation with the nurse he’s sweet-talking, seemingly encouraged by her playful banter. </p><p>Always chatty, always flirtatious to <em>anyone </em>who will give him the time of day, always confident.</p><p>Well, it’s <em>that </em>confidence that almost got him killed. There was zero need to intimidate Sainclair. The damage Sainclair was inflicting on Talon, that money he was keeping to himself was barely a blip on Maximilien's radar.</p><p>But no. The moment Mauga learned where Augustin was, he needed to seek him out. Mauga couldn’t do it in his own time, take some of that leave he has stashed to sort out whatever baggage he still had with Augustin’s name on it. He had to make a whole damned mission out of it, a whole song and dance and now, he has paid the price for his stupidity.</p><p>At least he didn’t die. <em> That </em>would have been a mess of paperwork to fill out.</p><p>The problem was trusting Augustin in the first place. Nguyen <em>knew </em>that it was a monumental mistake before they left for Haiti. Augustin betrayed Talon, he was destined to do it again. Just like Sainclair, Nguyen couldn’t have cared <em>less </em>about Augustin, the traitor that he is. Any bullet used to put him down would’ve been a waste, honestly. Augustin was just some field medic; he wasn't worth the time.</p><p>Well, that was then, and this is now. Nguyen takes little pleasure in being petty. He was taught to let things go, take the moral high road, but fuck that. Here, now, as he stands at the foot of Mauga’s bed, placing his chart back in the caddy and staring him down, he will <em>savour </em>this moment for every single drop it’s worth.</p><p>When the nurse finally finishes changing Mauga’s dressings, she levels Nguyen a smile and he smiles politely back. He waits until she is out of the room and the door is closed before speaking.</p><p>“I told you so.”</p><p>Mauga groans incessantly, he rolls his eyes. “Wow, I am <em> so </em> glad to see you’re okay, Mauga,” he says, sarcasm dripping off every word. “I’ve been worried <em> sick</em>, unable to sleep wondering if you were going to survive.”</p><p>Nguyen folds his arms across his chest. “I’ve been sleeping quite well. Thank you for your concern.”</p><p>“So what do you want me to say?” Mauga throws his hands up in the air. “I was wrong and you were right?”</p><p>“<em>Exactly </em> that.”</p><p>Mauga shrugs. “The mission was a success, that’s all that matters.”</p><p>“The mission—” Nguyen feels his hands shake by his sides as every muscle in his body tenses, and he takes a breath, letting everything relax. Mauga <em>always </em>does this; gets under his skin just for the fun of it and Nguyen falls for it, every time. “They tried to kill us—”</p><p>“Tried and <em>failed</em>. We planned accordingly for it.”</p><p>“And Augustin,” Nguyen spits. “I <em> told </em>you we couldn’t trust him. I <em> told </em>you he wasn’t worth our time because he’d find a way to escape. But <em>no</em>, you <em>had </em>to find him, try in some desperate, valiant attempt to bring him back in, and for <em>what? </em>Old time's sake? A return to what you once had?”</p><p>“You right there, buddy?” Mauga smiles, too much on the sly side for Nguyen’s liking. It does nothing but ticks his roiling anger into full-blown erupting rage. “Any more and I’m sure that vein in the centre of your forehead is going to explode.”</p><p>Nguyen can hear his pulse thrumming in his ears, the only sound aside from the rhythmic beeping of Mauga’s monitors—which does nothing other than tell him that Mauga is <em>calm</em>—is his own rapid and shallow breaths. He forces himself to take a step away from Mauga to compose himself. The fallout from this mission had been extensive—a simple visit to remind Sainclair who he worked for turned into Mauga arriving at the hospital in a critical condition along with a dozen dead at Sainclair's mansion. Yes, they gave Sainclair enough of a reminder that he might not forget what happened and lapse back into his old, greedy habits, but it all could have been done with a simple threatening phone call, without the death and injury and <em> Augustin. </em></p><p>But when it boils down to it, the mission was intimidation and that intimidation was a success. There’s no need for this stress, to give Mauga the opportunity to here grin smugly at him, <em>especially</em> when Mauga knows which of his buttons to push.</p><p>It doesn’t matter.</p><p>Exhaling long and slow, Nguyen heads for the door. With his hand on the handle, he stops and looks over his shoulder. “I <em> fucking </em> told you so.”</p><p>And with that, he leaves the room. He doesn’t feel better, if anything, he feels <em>worse </em>than he did before.</p><p>There is only one thing he is going to do now; find Augustin and put a bullet between his eyes. That might just make him feel better, and what might make this entire shitshow worth it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. "Watch me."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sojourn and Genji</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sojourn takes slow, deep breaths as the shuttle rumbles and shudders. </p><p>It’s been quite a while since she was required on the ground for a mission. These days though, as the very organisation she loves crumbles around her, there are fewer people she can trust to get the job done right the first time.</p><p>She looks at her team—Genji, who is drawing and withdrawing a shuriken from his hand, and Tracer, who looks about ready to throttle the pilot of this shuttle for their rougher than usual journey. Under normal circumstances, Tracer would be in the cockpit, but this is a rescue and they need to move quickly.</p><p>As she looks at her team, she knows this is likely their last mission. Whispers are swirling that Overwatch will be shut down by the end of the week. It’s understandable, she supposes; after the explosion at the HQ and losing Jack <em>and </em> Gabe, coupled with Ana before them, they were dealt blows so devastating the foundation that Overwatch was built upon had crumbled. </p><p>Gabe, Jack, and Ana were there from the start. There’s only so much Sojourn can do, how much slack she can pick up in their absence, and as of this moment, it’s just not enough.</p><p>She worries for everyone who has been left devastated by these events. Tracer is struggling with the potential loss—this job is everything to her. Genji, on the other hand, had one foot out of the door the moment his old clan was dismantled. He has only stuck around this long because they keep asking for his help.</p><p>Her gaze settles on Genji sitting opposite her, she meets the green line of his visor. He bows his head, unfastens his harness and crosses the cargo hold, taking a seat next to her.</p><p>“Genji,” Sojourn says, sitting back in her seat. “Everything okay?”</p><p>“Fine,” Genji replies. “Are you okay?”</p><p>Sojourn huffs a small laugh. “Flying isn’t my favourite thing in the world, but I’ll manage.” As if waiting for the cue, the shuttle rattles again. She holds onto her harness that little bit tighter.</p><p>“How have you adjusted to life with cybernetics?”</p><p>Sojourn’s eyes drop to her hands, both of which are prostheses. After the accident, it was everything she could've hoped for and more. Her left arm has a gun inbuilt that she can switch between at a moment's notice, and given it's tied into her ocular implants, she can aim as precisely as aiming down the scope of a sniper rifle. Quick, lethal—or non-lethal, depending on the circumstance. </p><p>This is the first time she’s using it on a mission. She’s tested it enough times on firing ranges and she’s eager to use it practically.</p><p>“It took some getting used to," she says with a smile. "Now though, I can't imagine life without them."</p><p>Genji merely hums. They've grown closer with thanks to her recently acquired cybernetics, and he's really opened up to her. She didn’t realise just how much pain he was in, both physically and mentally. He still is, and a large part of that has been his rejection of the cybernetics. The circumstances were different she supposes. Her trauma was expected given her line of work. His… he didn’t ask for it. He didn’t want it. </p><p>Despite her best efforts to help him see himself as a person, not a machine, he refuses to see it. He's been living with his cybernetics for years and he still isn't closer to accepting them. </p><p>But all she can do is be the support he desperately needs. He needs to figure this out on his own.</p><p>“Making our descent, prepare for landing,” the pilot calls out.</p><p>With a nod, she unfastens her harness, stands and makes her way to the hatch. She holds onto an overhead handhold as the shuttle comes to a quick and rough landing.</p><p>“I am eager to see you in action,” Genji says from beside her.</p><p>Sojourn grins, pulling the lever to open the hatch. Punching the air, her prosthetic changes in an instant from her hand to her gun. She meets Genji's gaze and winks. “Watch me.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>a single runaway idea of Sojourn and Genji bitching about their cybernetics over a drink was responsible for this. i just imagine them being super close over this common ground, and she did her best to help him heal.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. "I missed this."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Winston and Tracer (ft. cameos from the Zero Hour ensemble)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Voices echo off the walls. Happy chatter and laughter as people who haven’t seen each other in years catch up.</p><p>Winston has spent so long alone, so much time spent in these quiet, echoey rooms that he forgot just how wonderful it is to have people in them.</p><p>They ordered take-out from six different places. Much to Reinhardt and Angela’s amusement, their favourite restaurants were still open. Food and alcohol are spread on every table that they decided to put together and are seated around. It’s a mess, but it’s a good mess.</p><p>Winston can’t help but feel a sense of pride, looking at the cavalry who arrived in the nick of time. They come from all walks of life and they’re here, eating and talking as if they’ve been comrades for years. Brigitte is hot on Reinhardt’s tail, playfully teasing him as he tells Mei grand tales of old Overwatch. Genji and Echo are catching up; while Genji wasn’t assigned to look after them during his Blackwatch days, he did check in with Mina every now and then. Angela and Lena are swapping stories from their lives post-Overwatch.</p><p>It took longer than he had anticipated, but they’re here. Fewer than he had hoped, more than he had anticipated. Notable faces are missing—Jesse McCree for starters, for his invaluable knowledge of covert operations, would have been a useful asset. Winston had sent him three messages after the recall but he didn’t get a response from any of them. Winston had feared the worst after that grandiose train heist but he got confirmation at the very least that he <em>is </em>alive through Echo.</p><p>Sojourn is another whom he is a little disappointed isn’t here. Her leadership skills are incredible, she has a rapport with all of them. She is true leadership material, she would know what to do, where to strike, more than Winston ever will.</p><p>Watching on from the kitchen, Winston takes a break from it all. As wonderful as it is to have company, the feel of it is foreign. He hasn’t spoken to someone who wasn’t Athena in almost a year, and right now, he needs a moment of quiet.</p><p>It’s all a little overwhelming if he is being honest. Overwhelming in the sense that there are so many people who are here now. How all of them have made the decision to clean up crew quarters and reside on base rather than find their own accommodation offsite. Safety in numbers, they all unanimously agreed—<em> if </em>they need to leave at a moment’s notice, it’s easier to do if they’re all in one place. </p><p>But also, it's overwhelming because they look up to him as their leader. <em> He </em>initiated the recall, he brought them all together and now, they expect <em>him </em>to lead missions. How can he? He initiated the recall after a failed attempt by Reaper to take his life. He was willing to take on that omnic giant knowing full well that it was likely going to cost his life. Yes, he does what needs to be done, but what <em>if </em>he gets it wrong. What <em>if </em>he sends someone on a mission and they don’t come back? What if he sends the wrong people and civilians end up in the crossfire? Is ready for that kind of responsibility? Will he be able to carry that weight on his shoulders and still lead his team?</p><p>He’s just a scientist. Give him four walls and a set of tools and he’ll be set for life. But to be in control of a team… Last week he was ready for this. Now… Now it feels like he’s made the biggest mistake of his life.</p><p>“How’re you doing, big guy?”</p><p>Winston blinks back into the present, glancing at Lena beside him. She’s smiling, but he can see the concern in her eyes. It prompts him to check on the rest of the team, and they’re just as chatty as they were before he entered his spiral. But Lena has always been good at reading him.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Winston replies. “I just needed a break. The base hasn't been this quiet in years.”</p><p>“Understandable,” Lena replies, leaning on her elbows on the countertop. “I forgot just how <em> loud </em> Reinhardt can be.”</p><p>Winston smiles as he eyes Reinhardt, standing up and striking a pose with his head held high and his hands on his hips. It earns everyone’s attention as he tells yet another story. That quality might be good in a potential leader. He doesn’t think Reinhardt will want to be confined behind a desk though, he always hated it. Perhaps, instead of having a singular leader, the more seasoned members of this new Overwatch can share that responsibility. </p><p>“Reinhardt certainly knows how to take control of a room,” Winston says. He wonders if he is capable of that kind of energy to quieten a loud room in an instant. He’s sure if the situation called for it he could roar at the very least but still, what would it take to reach that point?</p><p>“I missed this,” Lena says quietly. “The people, the atmosphere. It’s good to have a purpose again.”</p><p>Winston smiles, placing a hand on Lena’s shoulder and pulling her in close. He circles back to his original train of thought, of the sound of laughter, echoing off these once forgotten walls and he can say, without a shadow of a doubt that he too missed this.</p><p>He’s no longer alone.</p><p>He doesn’t need to adhere to Overwatch’s old command structure. They’re a <em> team</em>, not a military organisation, and he is more than sure that they'll make the right decisions <em>together.</em></p><p>“I missed it too,” Winston says, casting his eyes back at everyone listening intently to Reinhardt's story. “I missed this too.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. "You better leave now."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Soldier:76, Ana, and Reaper</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This takes place after Valkyrie where Jack and Ana make their way to Europe to chase Reaper.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They had split up.</p><p>Gabe’s trail led them to this warehouse on Rome’s outskirts. On first glance, it's a weapon's supply store; crates are stacked head high, all brandishing the Talon logo. But there's something more here. Ana took the high ground while Jack searched the lower floor, but so far, Gabe is nowhere to be seen. </p><p>“Nothing up here,” Ana says, voice low through the comm in his ear. “It’s just one empty office after another. No paperwork, no documents, no technology. Nothing.”</p><p>“Dust?”</p><p>“Not even dust. This place was cleared and cleaned. Recently.”</p><p>Jack hums, considering. That isn’t a surprise and only solidifies the theory that this <em>is </em>a trap. As he ponders what Gabe's next move is, he eyes a wooden crate in front of him, the lid is lifted ajar. Prying it open, he’s met with a layer of hay, and when he sweeps his hand through, he expects to feel metal from whatever weapon they’re storing but the box is empty—</p><p>Jack grunts as he is flung backwards, crashing against a stack of crates and collapsing them. His entire body screams in pain, he groans as he pulls himself up. Standing tall, he eyes the cloaked figure standing at the crate he was just examining, the bone-white mask contrasting against their darkened clothes. </p><p>Gabe.</p><p>Jack draws his rifle, but before he takes a shot, Gabe disappears in a puff of smoke, immediately reappearing in front of him and taking hold of his gun. Jack fires, but the bullet goes <em>through </em> Gabe and into the crate behind him, sending a shower of splintered wood into the air.</p><p>“Pathetic,” Gabe says in that deep, guttural voice that sends a shiver down Jack’s spine. “Good to see nothing has changed.”</p><p>Then, much to Jack’s surprise, Gabe lets go of the rifle and a step back.</p><p>Jack frowns. This was <em>not</em> what he expected from Gabe after their previous altercation. “What—”</p><p>“I was ordered to have you follow me here. To have the two ghosts of Overwatch’s past in this warehouse so they could be taken out for good.”</p><p>Jack stares at that damned masked covering Gabe’s face. “I knew it was a trap,” he mutters.</p><p>“Of <em>course </em>it was a trap. Do you really think I’m <em>that </em>sloppy? I thought you knew me, Jack.”</p><p>Typical snarky Gabe. It seems he too hasn't changed over the years. “So why are you telling me this?”</p><p>Gabe groans, Jack can almost imagine him rolling his eyes. “Clearly, that head of yours has gotten thicker with age.” He inhales and exhales deeply. “My employers want you dead. I don’t.”</p><p>“Talon.”</p><p>Gabe folds his arms across his chest impatiently. He might be the Reaper now, but he’s definitely Gabe under there, there is no doubt in his mind.</p><p>“Why don’t you want us dead?” Jack asks.</p><p>“Because I <em> enjoy </em>toying with you. You don’t deserve to die in this rigged-to-explode warehouse. Besides, if one thing’s for certain, explosions <em>don’t</em> kill you.”</p><p>“What can I say? I’m stubborn.”</p><p>“You’re telling me. So go on, get out of here."</p><p>Giving Gabe one last glance, Jack turns his back on him. He knows it's a risk, that everything Gabe is saying is a lie, but if he <em>is</em> telling the truth, he has no intentions of dying in this place.</p><p>"Oh," Gabe calls, and Jack turns back around. "You’ll want to collect Ana. I knocked her out so she wouldn't try putting me to sleep again.”</p><p>“Of course you did,” Jack growls.</p><p>“Time’s ticking. You better leave now.” Gabe then dissipates in a puff of smoke, snaking out an open window. </p><p>With no telling how much time is on the detonation timer, Jack rushes upstairs and spots Ana lying on the ground. He slings her over his shoulder and makes a break for the exit, running down the cold and damp road as fast as he can. As he rounds a corner, he doesn't stop, not until he hears the ear-splitting explosion that rips through the night and lights up the night sky. </p><p>Jack watches the warehouse burn as Ana stirs. He sets her on the pavement, leaning against the wall to get her bearings.</p><p>Reaper is dangerous and lethal, but despite that, Jack finds himself <em>grinning</em>.</p><p>The thought of playing his sadistic little game is thrilling.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. "Not interested, thank you."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hanzo, Sojiro, Akinjide Adeyemi</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It isn’t every day that Hanzo is allowed to sit in one of his father’s meetings.</p><p>His father has told him his entire life that he will eventually take over as leader of the clan. Every single thing he does in his life, from his schooling to his training, he does it for the clan.</p><p>He has been mostly shielded from meetings because of his age. Hanzo knows there is a lot that happens behind the scenes, he’s old enough to know that their clan does more than own territory. He is aware of the murder and drugs and guns and the reasons behind them—to protect the family.</p><p>But now that he is seventeen, his father is inviting him to sit in on meetings and see the other side of how the clan is run.</p><p>Hanzo stands beside his father as he answers a call. The image of a man appears, someone Hanzo doesn’t recognise, but someone who looks completely <em>threatening. </em></p><p>“Sojiro,” the man says, smiling venomously. “It’s good to see you.”</p><p>“And you, Akinjide.”</p><p>“How is the weather? I understand this time of year can be quite brutal.”</p><p>Brutal is right. The monsoon season is well underway and it has been raining for three days straight. </p><p>“We’ve seen worse,” Hanzo’s father answers. “What is it you wanted to speak about? I’m quite busy.”</p><p>“Of course,” Akinjide says with a chuckle. “I was wondering if you’d given any more thought to our proposal.”</p><p>Hanzo’s father sits back in his seat, clasping his hands on top of his table. “I have, and I don’t believe it’s a good fit for us. You want to head in one direction, we’re headed in another.”</p><p>“I understand that,” Akinjide replies. “But imagine the potential. Your <em>skills </em>and our power, we would make a lethal combination. We could hold the entire world in the palm of our hand.”</p><p>Hanzo’s gaze shifts from Akinjide’s image to his father. He can’t help but imagine a scenario where he <em>could </em>control the entire world. The possibilities are endless, it’s almost dizzying to properly grasp what that could mean.</p><p>“I’m not interested in the entire world,” Hanzo’s father says. There is a hint of anger behind his words. It’s barely there but it’s the same way he has spoken to both him and Genji when they’ve done something wrong. “I’m comfortable with what I have here.”</p><p>“Your talents are wasted on your corner of Japan. Think about—”</p><p>“Not interested, thank you.” </p><p>There’s that finality, that low growl in his voice indicating that he is done with the conversation. Even though the statement wasn’t directed to Hanzo, he finds himself standing up straighter.</p><p>Akinjide smiles again, just as dangerous as the first one. “Of course. If you change your mind, do let me know.”</p><p>His father merely nods. “Akinjide.” Then he disconnects the call and sighs, loud and long, falling back into his chair. He taps the table with an index finger, deep in thought, and Hanzo waits to be dismissed.</p><p>“Never let anyone talk to you like that,” his father says eventually. “Don’t let them sweet talk you, manipulate you into thinking you can have everything if you follow them. They just want to use you for their own gain, they will chew you up and spit you out when they are done with you.” He meets Hanzo’s gaze. “Do you understand?”</p><p>Hanzo nods. “Yes.”</p><p>His father huffs a laugh. “When you take over, <em> you </em>are in charge. <em> You </em>don’t answer to <em>anyone</em>, no matter what riches they may offer. I’m not raising you to be someone else’s errand boy.”</p><p>“I understand,” Hanzo says, more certain, more assertive than before.</p><p>“Good. Now off you go, I want to see those fractions on my desk by the end of the day.”</p><p>Hanzo bows his head and leaves for his room. As he opens his maths problems on his tablet and attempts to solve the first one, all he can think about is his father’s words. He never considered that he would be approached by someone in power to partner up under false pretences.</p><p>He just hopes that, when the time comes, he’ll be able to recognise it before any damage is done.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. "I never wanted anything else."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Reinhardt and Balderich</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Reinhardt takes a hearty gulp of beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he listens to Bischoff, his commanding officer, talk about an opening in the Crusaders, the branch German Armed Forces who are looking for people to join.</p><p>Beside her, stands the great Balderich von Adler in full Crusader armour. With his helmet tucked under his arm, he casts his eyes at his squadron, fresh off another deployment, as if he is choosing who he wants to join them.</p><p>Their eyes meet for a brief moment, then Balderich continues his scan of the room.</p><p>Reinhardt watches on coolly, but internally he's screaming; Balderich has been a hero of his since childhood. He has posters of him on his walls, he's seen every single video of Balderich, whether training, interviewing, or straight from the field of battle. For as long as Reinhardt can remember, all he wanted was to dual wield twin hammers just like Balderich, fighting every OR14 ever made and sending a spray of sparks and twisted metal flying into the air. To raise his shield defensively to protect fallen soldiers to get them off the battlefield.</p><p>Reinhardt joined the German Armed Forces to join the Crusader ranks, but they never had an opening.</p><p>Until now, that is. </p><p>Bischoff introduces Balderich, and he takes a step forward.</p><p>"I'm looking for good soldiers. Soldiers who are capable of handling themselves with grace in the most stressful of times. Soldiers who aren't afraid of getting in the face of the enemy." He pauses, looking around the room. "Soldiers who live with honour, and are willing to die with glory."</p><p>The tavern is eerily silent; Reinhardt is sure he's never heard it this quiet before. He glances at his squad mates, people he has fought alongside, whom he has bled for. They're good people; good, honourable people who excel at what they do.</p><p>But this kind of work, the Crusader life, it isn't for them. For the longest time, Reinhardt felt out of place by their side. He always thought outside of the box when taking on the enemy. Fighting at range has its advantages but there is something more satisfying about being up close and watching that light go out in the enemy's eyes. He's gotten reprimanded for it, time and time again, but he's never been taken off active duty because he's effective.</p><p>They might speak ill of the Crusaders, but to Reinhardt, it's everything.</p><p>Standing up, Reinhardt draws his shoulders back, clasping his hands behind his back. "I will fight alongside you."</p><p>Balderich's gaze shifts to Reinhardt, he eyes him up and down, then gives a single nod and addresses the room. "If there is no one else, do continue on. You," his eyes flit to Reinhardt, "with me."</p><p>As the room returns to quiet chatter, Reinhardt joins Bischoff and Balderich at a table in the corner of the room.</p><p>"So this is the one you were telling me about," Balderich says, sliding a fresh stein of beer Reinhardt's way while addressing Bischoff. "The one who likes tearing those things apart with his bare hands."</p><p>"Yes, he is," Bischoff replies, smirking as she takes a gulp of beer.</p><p>Balderich hums, looking at Reinhardt with a critical eye. Reinhardt sits up straighter; if this is a job interview, he wants to make sure he aces it. "Tell me, why do you think you're a good fit for the Crusaders?"</p><p>"There are two kinds of soldiers: the ones who fight from a distance, who are comfortable behind a gun. Then there are the ones who aren't afraid to be up close, to get the job done, who will charge in headstrong no matter the stakes. I'm one of those people."</p><p>Balderich nods. "Excellent qualities. Are you willing to give your life to the Crusaders?"</p><p>"I wouldn't be a soldier if I wasn't prepared to give my life for my country. I have been training for this my entire life. I'm ready."</p><p>"Well then," Balderich grins, extending his hand. "Welcome to the Crusaders."</p><p>Reinhardt screams internally, but externally, he coolly says, "Thank you," as he takes Balderich's hand. "I never wanted anything else."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. "Give me a minute or an hour."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mei and Angela</p>
<p>Warnings: some squint-and-you'll-see-it Meicy that is built upon the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/20841485/chapters/49810169">"Can you stay?" prompt from Defining Moments.</a></p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mei yawns, absently reaching for her mug. She keeps her eyes on the graphs as she sips her tea, wincing when the cold liquid touches her tongue.</p>
<p>“I made this…” she murmurs, glancing at the clock on the corner of her screen, reading 11:43 p.m. “Two hours ago.”</p>
<p>With a sigh, she places her forgotten tea back down and takes off her glasses, pressing her palms to her eyes. She’s been sitting here for seven straight hours and is no closer to figuring this out.</p>
<p>It’s a pattern she’s observed over the last decade—strange, anomalous readings in atmospheric pressure that goes against the laws of nature, resulting in tropical cyclones landing outside of their respective seasons.</p>
<p>Distressingly, three hurricanes have occurred in countries that haven't experienced them in decades. The loss of life has been immense; France and Spain were utterly hammered, buildings unable to withstand the stress of hurricane-force winds toppled. Flooding and landslides were observed on scales never before seen.</p>
<p>The problem with these storms is they are impossible to predict. One day, the skies will be clear. Atmospheric data which predicts six months of mild weather with the occasional high- and low-pressure systems are tossed out the window when these storms appear seemingly out of nowhere and disappear just as quick.</p>
<p>But that’s what has Mei so perplexed: tropical cyclones don't just appear out of nowhere. These storms are devastating and <em>something </em>is causing them. The problem is, no one knows <em>what</em>.</p>
<p>Placing her glasses back on, she reviews the data from the latest storm which travelled so far inland it hit northern Italy. She’s analysed and reanalysed it, but the numbers don’t lie: seemingly warm air from cool waters are rising and causing these storms. This data goes beyond climate change—while ocean temperatures have been on a steady increase for the last two hundred years, the temperatures of the ocean in these places aren’t nearly high enough to form tropical cyclones. </p>
<p>She switches to the data from the storm that hit the east coast of the United States in January. They were in the grips of record low temperatures, days and days of snow and yet, they were hit with a Category 3 hurricane.</p>
<p>Mei compares the numbers—ocean temperatures, atmospheric pressure, and they couldn’t be farther from ideal cyclonic conditions. There is only one thing that makes sense and that is that they’re not made naturally.</p>
<p>But if someone was artificially making these storms, <em> how </em>are they doing it? The energy required to generate Category 3 and above tropical cyclones is immense. It’s unfathomable that <em>anyone </em>has that power and yet, that seems the likely hypothesis.</p>
<p>The door slides open behind her, and Mei glances over her shoulder, seeing Angela standing in the doorway. Mei smiles weakly, turning back to her screen.</p>
<p>“That bad?” Angela asks.</p>
<p>Mei hums. “It doesn’t make any sense.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps a break will do you good.”</p>
<p>Mei looks at her numbers and knows there’s a piece that she’s missing, <em>especially</em> if these are artificially created events. Who knows how many storms during hurricane season were also artificial.</p>
<p>And <em>if</em> they're artificial, <em>why</em> are they being created? A cover for something else? Testing ahead of a global catastrophe? <em>Why</em> would someone do this?</p>
<p>“I need to correlate the data from every hurricane over the last ten years," Mei says with renewed determination. "It’s the only way to get to the bottom of this.”</p>
<p>“Mei,” Angela says gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You need to rest.”</p>
<p>Angela squeezes her shoulder tenderly and Mei inhales and exhales deeply. Her hand is a comfort, a pitstop that she didn't realise she needed. Closing her eyes, Mei places her hand on top of Angela’s. These answers won't come overnight. They probably won't be uncovered for a long, <em>long</em> time.</p>
<p>“I know. Give me a minute,” Mei opens her eyes, looking up at Angela, “or an hour.”</p>
<p>“<em>Ten </em>minutes. Nothing more.” Angela’s hand slips away and she takes the seat next to Mei. </p>
<p>“You’re…”</p>
<p>“Making sure you don’t work yourself to death.” Angela smiles sweetly and Mei smiles back. “Some of us are worried about you.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Mei says, holding out her hand, and Angela takes it. She turns her attention to her screen bringing up a list of every hurricane, typhoon and cyclone that battered the planet over the last ten years. It'll be a good place to pick up from in the morning.</p>
<p>She’ll get to the bottom of this. She owes the people devastated by these unnatural events answers.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. "You don't see it?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Moira and Sigma</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Moira inhales and exhales deeply as she approaches the observatory.</p><p>It was set up thanks to their newest <em>acquisition. </em> Dr. de Kuiper has all but made it his home, spending every single minute of his free time looking at the stars. He has asked her multiple times if she would like to join him and every time she has politely declined. Of course, the natural curiosities of space do pique her interest but there isn’t much a telescope can gleam that she hasn’t already seen by bigger, better telescopes.</p><p>On top of that, she doesn't <em>fraternize </em>with those she works with, and she doesn’t have time for such frivolous activities; not when she’s up to her elbows in paper writing and grant applications.</p><p>Despite that, though, being able to speak with someone whom she considers her intellectual equal has been more than welcome. All the people within these walls care about money and starting wars; they could not care less about what they can achieve if they looked at things through a microscope.</p><p>She supposes that Dr. de Kuiper has experienced the same level of disinterest about his passions. Yes, they use him for his unique skill set and yes, they feed on his loneliness, his anger and hatred for being locked up after his accident but under that is a broken man who is looking for someone to share his interests with.</p><p>And that, unfortunately, leaves no one but her to indulge him. She is acutely aware of the strength he is capable of and that he could just as easily turn that wrath on them if he were to grow bored of Talon. So right now, her only move is to make sure he is <em>comfortable </em>within Talon, to indulge him for however long he wants and <em>hopefully, </em>she won’t get too bored of it.</p><p>Moira steps into the little observatory, eyeing Dr. de Kuiper looking through the telescope. She keeps her distance, clearing her throat lightly to get his attention. After a moment, he glances over and stands up tall.</p><p>“Dr. O’Deorain,” he says, smiling. “Welcome to my observatory.”</p><p>While this isn’t the first time she’s been in here, she still bows her head. “Thank you for having me.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s my pleasure.” Dr. de Kuiper gestures to his workstation. “Care for a drink?”</p><p>Moira’s gaze shifts to the table where there is a bottle of wine, two glasses, and an assortment of cheese, crackers, and dried fruits. That seems a little <em>cosy </em>for two colleagues looking through a telescope. “No, thank you, Dr. de Kuiper, I don’t drink.” It's a lie, but he doesn't need to know that.</p><p>“Siebren, please,” he says. “Cheese?”</p><p>Taking a breath and holding it, she looks at the plate. Did she misread him? While yes, he has been kind, she’s kept him at arm's length. Though he does visit her office <em>a lot </em>and asks about her research, and will listen to her talk at length about it, but that was to just bounce ideas off him, nothing more.</p><p>Her gaze shifts back to him, he’s still smiling, but behind it, in his eyes, she can see just how nervous he actually is. She catches a flicker of fear, too, perhaps. It’s a bad idea and it goes against her rules about fraternizing with colleagues, but there’s something about him that she can’t shake.</p><p>He has made his way through her walls and right now, for whatever reason, she can’t say <em>no</em>.</p><p>“Please,” she says, smiling back. “Thank you, Siebren. You may call me Moira.” The words leave her mouth before she can stop them, and as he chuckles and none too subtly wipes his hands down his thighs, she knows she can't take it back.</p><p>Tearing her gaze away from him, Moira makes her way to the cheese, picking up the knife and cutting a slice of what appears to be camembert and placing it onto a cracker. Taking a small bite, she tries to focus on <em>anything </em>that isn’t being on a first name basis with Siebren—<em>Dr. </em> De Kuiper, or that this might be a <em>date</em>.</p><p>“Here,” Siebren says, giving a little wave of his hand while he adjusts a knob on the telescope. Moira quickly finishes the cheese, making her way to him. “You can see Andromeda.” He stands up tall, grinning like he just made the discovery of the century.</p><p>She smiles back, knowing it’s thin but hoping it comes across as genuine. She bends down to look through the telescope. As expected, it’s a black backdrop with countless, unidentifiable stars. “Where?”</p><p>“You don’t see it?”</p><p>Moira pulls up, meeting Siebren’s gaze. She tries not to wince at the fragility in his voice, at how hurt he sounds.</p><p>“A star is a star,” she says lightly. “I enjoy the wonders of the universe, but looking through a telescope and identifying distant galaxies was never my strong suit.”</p><p>“Of course,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll activate the computer and have it enhance the image.” </p><p>She watches as he activates the computer beside the telescope and gets to work. If this had been anyone else she would find an excuse to leave but she reminds herself that he listens to her for hours, she can entertain him for more than a few minutes.</p><p>Still, she finds herself questioning what makes him different, and why she has an apparent soft spot for him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. "I can't do this anymore."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Angela</p><p>warnings: angst, hurt no comfort</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Angela exhales, slow and stuttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks at the images taken from the latest mission. These highly classified pictures will soon be deleted, swept under the proverbial rug and hiding Overwatch's dark side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a picture she’s seen countless times; a picture of heartbreak, of unnecessary harm. She’s seen so many just like this one over the past few months that they blend into one. Faces trapped in perpetual anguish. Mourning lost homes in an airstrike gone wrong. Cradling an injured loved one when caught in the crossfire. Body parts lying on the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is what Overwatch has become. They’re not fighting the enemy, not anymore. They’re fighting each other, and that sloppiness is getting innocent people killed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she joined Overwatch all those years ago, she promised herself she wouldn’t let it get to this. She joined under the condition that her research would be the focus of bettering medicine for civilians. That day that Jack Morrison told her that she could have anything she wanted, he promised her the world and it felt like she had sold her soul to the devil. </span>
  <span>It was too good to be true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At its core, Overwatch is military, and it was only a matter of time before she would align her goals with theirs. </span>
  <span>She was expecting it. She was bracing herself for it. But it happened so slowly, so unassuming that she didn’t even know it was happening until it was too late. One picture, like this one on her screen, turned into ten, which turned into dozens more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking back on it now, to that very first picture, she fell for their bullshit excuses because they dangled that carrot on a stick in front of her to keep her focused. </span>
  <span>It was bribery of the highest degree and she is appalled at herself for letting it get this bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing her eyes to stop tears from spilling, she thinks about all the good she has done up until this point. Good, which couldn’t have been achieved had she not had this position, not had unlimited resources at her disposal. She has revolutionised medicine—not only with the caduceus staff but with the valkyrie suit. Having the ability to fly into an area, help someone trapped under rubble and fly them to safety, or a hospital without delay </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> her life’s work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Overwatch though, they had other ideas, and from it, Mercy was born.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She has no regrets doing the work she did as Mercy. She saved countless lives, not only those of her teammates but civilians who were trapped. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>proved</span>
  </em>
  <span> that her technology worked, that it was the future of medicine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then they took that and turned it into something she hated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The biotic rifle. She doesn’t blame Torbjörn for designing the gun. Odds are, he had his own carrot he was chasing, the promise of anything he needed to build what his heart desired to win the war against Null Sector. That came in the form of a gun that could heal. Sure, it has its uses but what about the inverse? What about a gun that uses the technology—</span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> technology—to </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she didn’t sign up for. Along with this, the picture in on her monitor that details unimaginable horrors by the hands of the people she works for. This picture that will end up with the countless others, destroyed lest the world learns of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>mistakes</span>
  </em>
  <span> Overwatch has made.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears spill down her cheeks, and this time she lets them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispers. Words she never dared say out loud. But now they’re there, out in the universe, and she makes herself a promise that this is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>last </span>
  </em>
  <span>time she sees one of these pictures. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She will take her technology and leave. Fuck Overwatch for everything they have become.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least out there, with </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> suit, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> staff, she can make a real difference.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. "Did I ask?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Doomfist and Akinjide</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another from a moment in The Hero of Numbani. A little more spoilerish than the last one so tread with caution.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Akande stares at Akinjide before him and the sounds of screams, of alarms, of groaning metal and dust falling from the ceiling fades into white noise.</p>
<p><em> It’s not possible</em>, Akande tells himself. <em> He’s not here, he’s dead</em>.</p>
<p>“So this is what you’ve become.” The voice is a harsh whisper in his ear, it doesn't come from the person in front of him. And with it, in his mind, Akande can see that same condescending smile he grew to loathe. “<em>This </em>is your goal? To frighten women and children.”</p>
<p>Akande doesn’t respond. From the corner of his eye, he sees a boy pinned beneath the concrete. He is crying, shouting, screaming, Akande doesn't know; he can’t hear him.</p>
<p>“How very <em>noble</em> of you,” Akinjide says. “You killed me because you wanted to start a war and I wanted to get rich. But do you want to know what I see? The actions of a <em>coward</em>.”</p>
<p>“Did I ask?” Akande spits. </p>
<p>“So you plan to start a war. To sow the seeds of doubt in these people’s minds that their harmonious way of life is being threatened by omnics. But look around you, young protege; look at <em>who</em> they’re afraid of. It isn’t the omnics helping to get injured people out of this destroyed airport.”</p>
<p>Even though Akinjide is standing in front of him, Akande can feel the weight of Akinjide’s arm draped over his shoulder. He tries to shrug it away on instinct. </p>
<p>“They’re afraid of <em> you</em>.”</p>
<p>For a small, fleeting moment, as Akande eyes the OR15 embedded in the display of the airport terminal, the mask slips. While this isn’t the first time he has had a visit from his dead mentor, where he has felt vulnerable enough to <em>question </em>if what he was doing was right, it is the first time in a <em>long</em> time that he's had a crisis in the middle of his work<em>.</em></p>
<p>As much as he tries to fight it, intrusive thoughts start to plague his mind like ink in water. <em>Is </em>this the right thing to do? Is he the monster, the <em>terrorist </em>everyone sees him as?</p>
<p>Is there another way to achieve his goal?</p>
<p>An ear-splitting <em>pop</em> comes from the OR15 in the display, showering the floor in golden sparks. At that moment, he sees clarity. These people, the good people of Numbani just don’t understand—collateral damage is inevitable, what’s a few broken bones in the grand scheme of things? Humanity will be better once the dust has settled, everyone just needs to see his plan in fruition to understand.</p>
<p>Drawing his shoulders back, the mask shifts back into place.   </p>
<p>“A small price to pay to achieve my goal.”</p>
<p>Akinjide chuckles, deep and guttural and even after all these years, it still sends a shiver down his spine. “And I circle back to the women and children.”</p>
<p>Akande’s eyes flit to young Efi Oladele looking at him. She isn’t scared like the others, no, she is defiant. It seems fate has brought them together, and he is glad she is here to witness this. Akande knew that she was special, but now, he’s seeing just how remarkable she truly is.</p>
<p><em> That </em>right there is proof that he is on the right path. Children like Efi are the future, showing strength in the face of terror. True leadership. True potential.</p>
<p>For a brief moment, Efi holds the stare. Then her eyes shift away, and he realises that she is looking at the image of Akinjide in front of him. <em>How</em> can she see him? His fingers flex, he reaches out, his arm waves through a <em> hologram</em>.</p>
<p>He growls, searching for the <em>thing </em>projecting the image. He aims his hand cannon at the mechanical bug by Akinjide's feet, blasting it away, and the Akinjide hologram disappears.</p>
<p>A distraction. A fleeting distraction to what end? Show that he <em>does </em>have a fear? That he <em>can </em>be stopped?</p>
<p>No. No more fear, no more stalling. He casts one final glance at Efi; it seems he highly underestimated her determination.</p>
<p>With a growl, he leaps into the air. </p>
<p>The world will witness his power. </p>
<p>As gravity takes hold, he aims at the ground with his fist.</p>
<p>He will give the world a taste of his strength.</p>
<p>He lands with so much force, the ground shakes. The terminal rocks, large chunks concrete fall to the ground around him. This might have been a minor setback, but he has achieved his goal: he has the gauntlet.</p>
<p>And now, the world will know his name. In time, he will be seen, not as the <em>terrorist, </em> but as humanity’s <em>saviour</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. "This, this makes it all worth it."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mina and Echo</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been a day and a half.</p><p>Well, it has been a decade and a half, if Mina is being honest. She went from building omnics to helping fight them. She's watched the good she created turn evil, the help turn into harm. </p><p>It has been a whirlwind of emotions. No matter what she did, what she said, how hard she tried, omnics were a bad word on everyone's lips. People were afraid, violent, and in that terror lashed out, making threats against her life. </p><p>All she wanted was to help humanity. To better everyone as a society, not sew the seeds of chaos and despair. She's never been truly afraid; it's all empty words, and now that she's in Overwatch's ranks, security is tighter.</p><p>Still, everyone's anger is justified. So many lives have been lost—on both sides. It's something she knows she'll never recover from.</p><p>How can one recover knowing they dragged the world into the grips of war?</p><p>But that is in the past. Humans and omnics alike are healing. Cities like Numbani are shining beacons of hope that humans and omnics can peacefully coexist. In most places though, there is still hatred, but there will always be hatred. An entire generation has been displaced by the Crisis, it will take a generation, perhaps more, to fully heal.</p><p>So Mina can only look forward and place that trust gently back into humanity's hands. She looks at the product of the last five years of work with a tear in her eye. It's been a long road full of failures and setbacks but now, as she watches Echo tend to the plants in her office with gentleness and care, Mina feels about ready to openly sob.</p><p>Echo was the name of the project, but she has decided to adopt the name for herself. She was made genderless and androgynous, Mina wanted Echo to have choice in her appearance. With name and gender sorted, the next step is choosing her own look, something Echo is taking quite seriously.</p><p>There's no rush, though. Right now, the important thing is watching her do things she wants to do. While she is programmed to adapt and learn from those around her, be a medic or a shield in warzones, it extends to the smallest of actions—the way she is carefully tending to the plants in her office, cutting away dead foliage, smelling the blooming orchids, is a direct mirror to Mina's routine. </p><p>Echo attempts to water the orchid, but a few drops of water comes out. She glances inside the watering can and hums. "I need more water," she says, heading out of the room to the bathroom.</p><p>Leaning against the door frame, Mina smiles. It's been a tumultuous journey, wrought with anger and resentment, but now… "This, this makes it all worth it."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. "And neither should you."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Zarya and Lynx Seventeen</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this picks up right where Zarya's comic, 'Searching' finished.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Sargeant Zaryanova, wait.”</p><p>Zarya stops, turning her head enough to glance at Lynx Seventeen over her shoulder.</p><p>Lynx takes a step, falters and falls to one knee. Zarya takes a step forward but Lynx holds out a hand. “I’m fine.”</p><p>Zarya rolls her eyes. “You’re not,” she says, approaching them. She offers her hand, and after a moment, Lynx takes it. “Let me walk you back to the motel.”</p><p>“I suppose you were headed that way anyway,” Lynx says as Zarya pulls them up to standing.</p><p>Resting Lynx’s arm over her shoulder, they set off, walking in silence. Zarya processes the information Sombra told her, that Katya is using omnic technology to defend Russia. It's unpalatable, a <em>disgrace</em> to their great nation.</p><p>Ultimately, it makes so much sense as to why she suggested Lynx in the first place.</p><p>
  <em> Do it for me, and for our country. </em>
</p><p>The words slice through her like an ice-cold dagger. It's blindingly obvious now, she should have realised back then that Katya—Chairman Volskaya was working with the enemy. And if Volskaya is keeping this a secret, what <em>else </em>is she hiding?</p><p>"Do you want to talk about it?"</p><p>"Not with you—" Zarya bites her tongue, glancing at Lynx. Those words came out harsher than she intended; besides, she's angry at Volskaya, not Lynx. "No," she says, quieter, gentler.</p><p>"At least you've got your bite back," Lynx mutters.</p><p>"Sorry."</p><p>"<em>And </em>an apology. That revelation really broke you, it seems."</p><p>"Don't make me regret saving you.” Zarya looks at Lynx from the corner of her eye, winking when they tilt their head to look at her.</p><p>To think, mere days ago she would’ve taken delight in seeing Lynx crumpled on the ground. Now… Lynx might be the only person she trusts.</p><p>Omnics destroyed her village and it will take a lot of healing, perhaps a lifetime, but if there are good omnics in the world, like Lynx, it might just make it a little more tolerable.</p><p>Although... She was wrong about Lynx. Who else was she wrong about?</p><p>She was certainly wrong about Volskaya, that much is certain.</p><p>Sighing as she blinks back into the present, they step into their motel. She leads Lynx to their room, setting them down on the bed. This is the first time she’s been in their room and surprisingly, it isn’t any different to hers.</p><p>“You’ll be okay now?” Zarya asks.</p><p>“A little rest, a lot of scouring my source code for the vulnerability and fixing that right up…” Lynx nods. “I will be fine.”</p><p>“Good. Take care of yourself.”</p><p>“You too. And…” Lynx pauses, tilting their head. “If you ever need anything—support, someone by your side to take on the world or Sombra, just reach out. You don’t have to do it alone.”</p><p>Zarya can’t help but smile. How times have changed. “And neither should you.” </p><p>“So we’re… friends?”</p><p>“Yes,” Zarya says, playfully rolling her eyes. “You don’t travel halfway around the world and knock on hundreds of doors with someone and <em>not </em>grow to like them. But I’ll be fine. I need to figure this out on my own.”</p><p>“Of course. I’ll see you around, Sargeant—”</p><p>“Aleksandra.”</p><p>Lynx nods. “Aleksandra.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. "Do we have to?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hana and Brigitte</p><p>warnings: mekamechanic, minor background gencio</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is picking up from the mekamechanic story in Snapshots, which you can read <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/16219478/chapters/38291711">here.</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the first time in Hana’s life, she has nothing to do, and it is <em> bliss</em>.</p><p>No games. No meetings. No repairs. No fighting. No missions. Absolutely <em> nothing </em> but a gorgeous spring day and Brigitte for company. She left her phone on base, her aim is to completely disconnect from reality for a few short hours.</p><p>They headed out for a picnic, sitting at a park overlooking the ocean. There is a gentle breeze and not a cloud in the sky, Brigitte’s head rests on her lap as the warm sun beats down. A single word isn’t uttered between them, all they have is companionable silence as Hana gently plays with Brigitte’s hair while she rests.</p><p>Brigitte had come back from a mission that had gone wrong. Hana is unsure of the finer details but the entire team had injuries ranging from minor scrapes to broken bones. Brigitte suffered the worst of it, a broken arm and a few cracked ribs when a heavy assault unit picked her up and threw her against the wall. She had to spend the night in the infirmary, and was given the all clear to take things easy for the next fortnight. </p><p>Hana took two weeks worth of leave, her aim is to spend all of it by Brigitte’s side. The weight of what happened to Brigitte and the team didn’t hit her until they were safe on base. Genji was on that mission too and suffered extensive damage to his cybernetics, and he too spent the night in the infirmary. Not wanting to be alone, she spent the night with Lúcio as they fretted, as they cried, as they came to the realisation that they were both in love.</p><p>Yeah, Brigitte has been her girlfriend for a month now. She loves Brigitte, but until that moment, she didn’t realise she was <em>in love.</em> Lúcio had to talk her down from jumping into her mech and taking out that Talon base. He said it was a suicide mission, that she wouldn’t be able to achieve what she wanted without getting herself hurt or worse, but Hana didn’t care; no one hurt Brigitte and was allowed to get away with it.</p><p>And that’s when the realisation hit her at full force. </p><p>Lúcio then had to stop her from rushing to Brigitte’s side and confessing. It was two in the morning, Brigitte <em>and </em> Genji were both asleep and both would be cranky if they were woken up.</p><p>The following morning, though, that was a different story. Hana was at the infirmary the <em> second </em> Angela had called, telling her that Brigitte wanted a visitor. She was ready to confess her feelings but Genji was in the bed next to Brigitte's. A minute later, Lúcio was in the room and then, it just felt too crowded. </p><p>Fortunately, a short hour later, Brigitte was discharged. Hana made her breakfast and they took it back to Brigitte’s room. They ate, they laughed, and Hana told Brigitte how she felt about her. The feeling was mutual, Brigitte confessed too, and since then, they’ve been by each other’s side.</p><p>With a smile teasing her lips, a lock of Brigitte's hair wrapped around her finger, Hana looks down at Brigitte. She analyses the freckles on her cheeks, the slope of her nose, her lips, slightly parted. This is her girlfriend, the woman she loves with all her heart.</p><p>Brigitte’s eyes snap open, she meets Hana’s gaze and smiles. “I knew you were staring.”</p><p>“Hard not to,” Hana replies. Brigitte lifts herself up on her elbows and Hana meets her in a gentle kiss. “Want to get ice cream?”</p><p>“Do we have to?” While ice cream is a wonderful idea, this moment is just too perfect to leave. </p><p>“But… It’s ice cream.” Brigitte then looks up at her with those big, gorgeous eyes Hana just can’t say no to. “Please?”</p><p>Huffing a laugh, Hana cups Brigitte’s face and kisses her again. “How can I say no to you.”</p><p>“I love you,” Brigitte says, smiling softly.</p><p>“I love you too.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. "Are you kidding me?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Junkrat and the Junker Queen</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Junkrat stands tall, shoulders drawn back, head tilted high.</p><p>This is it. The last two months of his life have been leading up to this moment. To say he’s put his blood, sweat and tears into it would be an understatement.</p><p>He eyes the crowd of this arena, rows and rows of people listening intently to the Queen as she gives her grand speech. It's an intricate tale told of every competitor’s challenges to be crowned her champion, from the thirty of them who started to the final two. He’s not the favourite to win but sources close to the Queen have said that Swagman has fewer points than him, something that will influence the Queen’s decision.</p><p>He’s wanted to be the Queen’s Champion for as long as he’s been in Junkertown. To represent their town <em>and </em>the Queen in a little friendly competition with Scraphaven, to declare which of the two communities is the best. On top of that, winning this little competition would be made all the sweeter since it’ll give him the opportunity to rub into the lousy people of Scraphaven that kicking him out was a mistake.</p><p>“And now we have the moment of truth,” the Queen says, turning to face him and Swagman. “Both competitors have fought hard, there’s no doubt about that. Junkrat’s creativity and tenacity is something to be rivalled.”</p><p>Junkrat grins as the crowd cheers. He hears a few ‘boo’s but that’s to be expected; a little healthy competition gets the blood pumping.</p><p>“And Swagman. His strength and resilience, his ability to adapt and rise above every challenge has made for an absolute feast of entertainment."</p><p>The crowd cheers, Junkrat tries not to wince at the fact that it's louder than his. Healthy competition, he tells himself. </p><p>The Queen raises her arms in an attempt to quieten the crowd. When silence falls, the Queen continues, "And to that end, I hereby name my champion to be…"</p><p>The dreaded stretch of silence. The Queen always had a flair for the dramatic. But it doesn't matter, she's going name him in just a few more moments—</p><p>"Swagman!"</p><p>The crowd roars, she lifts Swagman's arm above his head. Junkrat watches on, just as stunned as a deer in the headlights. How could he lose? He had this in the bag.</p><p>But despite this loss, he finds himself laughing. So hard, so uncontrollable, tears roll down his cheeks and the room falls so silent, the <em> only </em> thing left is his laughter echoing through the arena.</p><p>"This guy?" Junkrat says between giggles. "This drunk fuck who doesn't know up from down? You chose <em> this </em> guy to represent you? Are you kidding me?"</p><p>The Queen saunters over with that over-the-top fake smile plastered on her lips. “Oh, my dear Junkrat,” she says, brushing his cheek with the back of her fingers. “You think I want <em> you </em> representing me?”</p><p>“Well…” All of a sudden, Junkrat feels small. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Glad to see you’re humble in defeat,” she replies, winking as she pats his cheek. And with that, she leaves, standing beside Swagman once more.</p><p>The crowd cheers and he storms out of the arena. “Humble in defeat,” he says with a scoff. “I’ll show you humble. I know where you keep your cash and soon enough, you won’t have a single dollar to your name.” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. "Sometimes you can even see."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Widowmaker and Sombra</p>
<p>warnings: psychological horror, nightmares, mentions of blood, spiderbyte</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This continues on from  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/20841485/chapters/49657760">this story.</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She can hear sobbing, sad and distant, echoing off the walls.</p>
<p>As much as she tries to fight the urge to find its source, she is drawn to it. It’s not her first time here but it's always the same; through a maze as her subconscious tries in vain to protect her. No matter how twisted the path becomes, no matter how much it changes, she always finds Amélie.</p>
<p>As she rounds a corner, her forearms start to hurt. She doesn’t need to look down to know scratch marks are forming on her skin, bleeding as invisible fingernails dig in.</p>
<p>She is getting close.</p>
<p>The sobbing turns into a wail. She covers her ears but it does nothing; Amélie is too loud. The ground shakes beneath her feet, dust falls from the crumbling ceiling.</p>
<p>Suddenly, the wailing stops and silence falls on her. In front of her is a door. She knows what’s on the other side, the horror that lies within, yet she opens it.</p>
<p>Two people are in bed, huffed breaths and quiet moans are shared between them. If she closes her eyes she can feel that moment; his lips, softly pressing against her skin, the tightness of his grip as he takes her hands in his. She doesn’t close her eyes, though, not this time. She watches it play out, as the rocking stops, as Amélie uses the bathroom, as she lies down next to her husband, eyes on the ceiling until he falls asleep.</p>
<p>An intense cold washes over her like she is being pulled down into icy water. She tries to fight it but it spreads, no amount of warmth can cure it—no amount of warmth <em>has</em>. </p>
<p>This was the moment she stopped being Amélie. </p>
<p>This was the moment she became the Widowmaker.</p>
<p>She closes the door as Widowmaker straddles his lap and presses the pillow to his face. A moment later a scream, so loud it causes the house to crumble around her. She huddles, arms protecting her head as she tries to protect herself from the collapsing ceiling. When it eventually stops, all that is left is the same sobbing that led her on this nightmare. She stands, and amongst the rubble around her is a single room; untouched, undamaged.</p>
<p>She approaches the door. The same door from every single nightmare. It has a little window she looks through, inside she sees Amélie in her tattered wedding dress, the fingernail marks down the stone walls. Her hands are bloodied, her forearms have deep scratches on them. </p>
<p>Amélie meets her gaze, she stands up, and in an instant, appears in front of the door. Her makeup is ruined, black trails down her cheeks, her lipstick is smudged. </p>
<p>She isn’t sobbing anymore. Now, she smirks, twisted and malicious.</p>
<p>“You will kill her like you killed him. It is only a matter of time.”</p>
<p>Widowmaker wakes with a start, sitting up in bed. She looks around her, at her possessions, familiar things. Breathing in deep, she eyes Sombra beside her, still asleep.</p>
<p><em> You will kill her like you killed him</em>.</p>
<p>It's a whisper that sends a shiver down her spine. But she won't let Amélie win. With the shake of her head, Widowmaker gets out of bed, grabbing her robe draped over the chair in the corner of the room and slides it on. Quietly, she opens the doors to the balcony, closing them behind her to keep the cold out. She doesn’t feel the bite of winter, the light snow settling on her that doesn’t immediately melt. </p>
<p>Breathing in the frigid air, she casts her eyes at the grey sky. Coming back home has helped with her nightmares in the past. There is something about Château Guillard that keeps Amélie at bay.</p>
<p>Until tonight, that is. She hasn’t experienced a nightmare that bad, that <em>intense </em>in a long time.</p>
<p>
  <em> You will kill her like you killed him. It is only a matter of time. </em>
</p>
<p>Closing her eyes as she feels the caress of a breath against her ear, she tries to bury Amélie in the dark part of her mind where that part of her life goes. She is Widowmaker now, a conduit, a weapon. But no matter how many nightmares she has, no matter how high the wall is, she will always be Amélie, and she will always feel the guilt, the sorrow, the anguish of that moment when she turned against her husband.</p>
<p>She feels a hand on her shoulder, and Widowmaker’s instincts take over. She turns fast, ready to strike, and stops when she sees Sombra a good two steps away, hands up in surrender.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Sombra murmurs. When Widowmaker lowers her hands, Sombra pulls her coat tighter around herself. “Everything okay?”</p>
<p>Widowmaker looks out at the water. It used to freeze, once upon a time. No longer. Just like she used to be numb to these feelings.</p>
<p>“Just a nightmare,” Widowmaker replies.</p>
<p>Sombra stands next to her, close enough to link their arms together. “Want to talk about it?”</p>
<p>
  <em> You will kill her like you killed him. </em>
</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>A silence settles between them, Widowmaker is grateful that Sombra doesn’t ask further. She looks up at the sky and sighs. “It is a shame it is cloudy, the night sky from here is magical. Sometimes you can even see the milky way.”</p>
<p>“I imagine it is quite impressive,” Sombra says, voice wavering. Her teeth chatter, she shivers.</p>
<p>“Let’s go inside,” Widowmaker says. “Before you freeze.”</p>
<p>“Please,” Sombra says, leaping for the door.</p>
<p>Widowmaker smiles. But then it falls.</p>
<p>
  <em> It is only a matter of time. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. "How about you trust me for once?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Fareeha and Ana</p>
<p>warnings: angst, hurt no comfort</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fareeha sits through the briefing barely listening.</p>
<p>Winston’s voice fades into white noise. While everyone else in the room listens intently, focused on the mission details, Fareeha’s eyes are on <em>her</em>.</p>
<p>She’s aged so much in the last fifteen years. She’s smaller than Fareeha remembers, frailer and gaunter, too. Whenever Fareeha thought about her mother, she would remember the proud founder of Overwatch, the woman who was a force of nature, her immortal mother through the eyes of her younger self. </p>
<p>Now, Ana Amari sits across from her, listening to Winston’s briefing, and all Fareeha can do is stare at the woman who is a shell of her mother. The person Fareeha mourned, the person Fareeha buried all those years ago to move on with her life.</p>
<p>There was a point in Fareeha’s life, when she was younger, where she didn’t believe her mother was dead. They never found her body and for the longest time, Ana Amari was considered a prisoner of war. Fareeha was told that if Ana were to return, that she should be cautious because she could be brainwashed, just as Amélie Lacroix was.</p>
<p>She’s not entirely sure she <em>trusts </em>that her mother is who she says she is. Alive all along? Reaching out to Overwatch and accepted with open arms? It just doesn't sit right with her. And honestly, she doesn’t know what is worse—believing her mother was dead all this time, or the fact that she wasn’t and not <em>once </em>did she reach out.</p>
<p>The briefing room’s lights turn back on, drawing Fareeha from her thoughts. Overwatch requires Helix for this mission, it’s the only reason why Fareeha’s here. Ana is here because this pertains to Gabriel Reyes, another ghost of Overwatch’s past thought dead who is very much alive. Fareeha’s gaze shifts to Jack Morrison, sitting beside her mother, <em>also</em> very much alive. <em>He</em> knew that she was alive, she told <em>him </em>and yet, she didn’t tell her own daughter.</p>
<p>Biting back her rising anger, she focuses on her tablet. This isn’t the first time the Reaper has come across her briefing table, but now she has the name of the person behind the mask. It’s hard to believe that under that mask and cloak, behind the black fog and trail of death is the same kind-hearted man who used to bring her back awful, cheaply made souvenirs from whatever country he had visited.</p>
<p>Everyone stands, some turn to leave. Reinhardt doesn’t stay in the room a moment longer than he needs to and understandably so—he was just as blindsided by this news as she was. Brigitte gives her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder as she passes, as does Lena. Angela, a sympathetic smile from the other side of the table. Everyone leaves, with the exception of Winston, Morrison, and her mother.</p>
<p>“Fareeha—”</p>
<p>“<em>Pharah</em>,” Fareeha says, levelling her mother with a hard stare. </p>
<p>“Pharah,” her mother repeats. If she was hurt by that, she doesn’t show it. Infallible as always. “Do you have any further information you are able to share about your dealings with Reaper?”</p>
<p>“It’s all in the brief,” Fareeha says, keeping an air of professionalism. She doesn’t take her eyes off her mother, not until she looks at her own tablet, lifting it up with long, bony fingers.</p>
<p>“And you’re certain he plans on making a move on this facility?” her mother asks, swiping her hand upwards, sending the image of a skyscraper on the holoprojector. </p>
<p>“Intelligence indicates that he has been seen in the area three times. He met with businessman Mike Uhlhorn and revealed that he had an interest in his import/export connections. The thing about Reaper is he doesn’t <em>ask</em>, he <em>takes</em>. He <em> will </em> take this and if you want to bring him in, you’ll need our help.”</p>
<p>“Why would he meet up with this Uhlhorn if he just plans on taking?” her mother asks.</p>
<p>“Collaboration? Using his business to import something? Maybe he has a thing for jellied eels.” Fareeha levels her mother another hard stare. “I don’t know why he does what he does. All I know is he will hit here, and we’ll be ready.”</p>
<p>Her mother glances at Morrison, he doesn’t respond in the slightest. She turns her attention back to Fareeha. “How certain are you—”</p>
<p>“How about you trust me for once?” A small part of Fareeha winces, that came out harsher than she intended. The rest of her though stands defiant—her mother controlled <em>every </em>aspect of her life right until her seemingly untimely death and now, years after she was certain she had buried that baggage with that empty casket, it’s back.</p>
<p>Winston shifts uncomfortably, Morrison stares at her from behind that mask of his. Her mother, though, not quite so infallible this time, reveals a flash of hurt.</p>
<p>“I do trust you,” her mother says slowly, gently. “I was just making sure.”</p>
<p>“You have nothing to worry about,” Fareeha replies, standing. “This time tomorrow, you’ll have the Reaper and we can go back to pretending you’re dead and you don’t give a shit about me.” Fareeha picks up her tablet and leaves.</p>
<p>“Pharah,” her mother calls out. “<em>Fareeha</em>.”</p>
<p>Tears pool in Fareeha’s eyes as she storms down the hallway. If her mother cared, she would have told her she was alive. If she cared, Fareeha wouldn’t have learned this information from Winston.</p>
<p>There is only one person Ana Amari cares about, and that’s Ana Amari. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. "Give me that."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Roadhog and Junkrat</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Roadhog keeps watch while Junkrat sets the explosives.</p><p>It’s the middle of the night and Norway’s frigid winter air cuts through his coat like a knife. A museum isn’t their usual go-to, but when Junkrat learned it housed a priceless pink diamond, he insisted. </p><p>A car approaches and Roadhog stands in the shadows. It passes without incident, and when it rounds a corner, Roadhog steps back out. He glances at Junkrat, crouched down on the ground, placing the last explosive.</p><p>“That oughta do it,” Junkrat says, standing up and dusting his hands. “We’ll have to be quick—in and out in under a minute before the coppers arrive.”</p><p>“Guards?”</p><p>“One or two, won’t be a problem. The new world is too <em>trusting </em>to have high security. Follow me.”</p><p>Roadhog follows Junkrat down the street a little, no more than ten or so metres. Easy enough at least to rush in, take the diamond, and leave. </p><p>“All right,” Junkrat murmurs, grinning. He holds the detonator in his hand. “Ready, setty...” He flicks the switch and the explosives go off, blowing a hole in the wall. “Spaghetti!”</p><p>Junkrat takes off, fast as lightning. Roadhog saunters up to the hole, stepping through. This was a staff room, but now it’s nothing but ruined furniture and a broken vending machine. In the corner of the room, though, is a red flashing light—the alarm.</p><p>In the distance, Roadhog can hear sirens. Seconds tick by and Junkrat is nowhere to be seen. The diamond should be one room over, either he has encountered resistance they didn’t anticipate or he got distracted by something shiny. </p><p>Then, he hears the echo of footfalls. It’s not Junkrat’s usual gait, he can’t hear the familiar <em>clunk </em>from his prosthetic. Lifting his scrap gun, Roadhog aims it at the thrown-open door, and when he sees a child, he lowers his gun. The kid has to be no more than five years old. He looks at him with big, sad eyes, he's dressed in pyjamas and is holding a blanket in one hand. He's got to be a kid of one of the guards, in a sleepover in the museum or something. The explosion could've killed this kid, all because Junkrat needed that diamond.</p><p>Out of the silence, he hears Junkrat’s gait. The kid looks to his right, he holds his arms out. Junkrat appears then, smiling wide and patting his pocket. In his hand, though, is a pachimari, a little golfmari celebrating the passing summer games. Those were limited edition—they only made one hundred of them and Roadhog has been looking <em>everywhere </em>for it. </p><p>Junkrat, the bully that he is, waves it at the kid. The kid tries to grab it but Junkrat pulls it up and out of his reach. As the kid whimpers, Junkrat shrugs. “Sorry kid, but the big guy wants it more. Doesn’t shut up about it. You get me, yeah?”</p><p>“Give me that,” Roadhog sneers, taking a step forward and snatching it out of Junkrat’s hand. “Get the van.”</p><p>Junkrat nods and leaves through the gaping hole. Shaking his head, Roadhog turns his attention back to the kid, kneeling on the ground. Slowly, gently, he holds the pachimari out in the palm of his hand. The kid looks at it, then him, hesitant. </p><p>Roadhog nods, and the kid cautiously reaches out, taking the toy and quickly pulling it towards his chest. Standing, Roadhog brings his finger to his mask, miming quiet. The kid nods and Roadhog leaves him be.</p><p>The sound of sirens gets louder as he climbs into the van. Junkrat takes off as he buckles in, as they turn the corner, he sees red and blue light up the street.</p><p>“Where’s the pachi? I got that for you, you know.”</p><p>Roadhog glares at Junkrat. “Take anything else from a kid and I’ll end you.”</p><p>“Okay, sheesh,” Junkrat says, rolling his eyes. “Last time I do anything nice for you.” </p><p>Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Roadhog looks through the side mirror. Nothing but night. They’re not being followed.</p><p>Hopefully, that’s the last time they make an unnecessary detour.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. "Do I have to do everything here?"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sombra (ft. cameos from Widowmaker, Sigma, and Reaper.)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sombra looks at the scene in front of her utterly grinning from ear to ear.</p>
<p>Widowmaker has her arms folded across her chest, looking at the walls of the cell as if they're diseased. Reaper is crouching in the corner like a petulant child told to go to his room, and finally Sigma, right in the centre of the cramped space, levitating in that creepy way he does when he’s deep in thought. They acknowledge her presence with a nod, a grunt, and a polite smile respectively.</p>
<p>“It’s about time you showed up,” Reaper growls, standing. </p>
<p>“Oh, you know me,” Sombra replies, smirking slyly. “Too much time spent with my head in the cloud to realise what’s happening in the real world.”</p>
<p>Reaper grunts again, and Sombra keeps her eyes squarely on him. He hates it when people parrot his words back to him. Not that his words particularly sting in any way, but she keeps his best ones tucked away for moments as sweet as this to prove that he’s an ass.</p>
<p>“While you were busy getting captured,” Sombra says, “<em>I </em> was acquiring the information we needed.” Making a rectangle with her thumbs and forefingers pressed together, she pulls her hands apart, displaying the documents she stole. </p>
<p>“Excellent work,” Sigma says.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Sigma, it’s good to know my efforts are <em> appreciated</em>.”</p>
<p>Reaper <em>tsks</em>. “What about—”</p>
<p>“<em>Then </em> I accessed their security logs, reviewed them, and found where they had stashed the compound. Getting into that locked room with its rolling encryption set me back, oh, two seconds.”</p>
<p>“And you have it?” Sigma asks.</p>
<p>Wiggling her eyebrows, Sombra reaches into her pocket, pulling out the vial of black liquid. Moira said that the lab had stolen her research and she wanted it back, but the real truth is these people beat her to the same compound and she wants to destroy them.</p>
<p>“Perfect,” Widowmaker says, smiling wide.</p>
<p>“After that, I had to incapacitate two guards, then sneak past the laboratories to get out. I made my way <em>here</em>, to this two-bit <em>police </em>station, hacked <em>their </em>security feeds to show yesterday’s recordings so I can stand here with no resistance whatsoever. I mean,” she chuckles, “do I have to do <em> everything </em> here?”</p>
<p>“I cannot speak for the rest of the team,” Sigma says, placing a hand on his chest, “but <em> I </em> am grateful for everything you have achieved.”</p>
<p>“As am I,” Widowmaker says.</p>
<p>“Why, thank you,” Sombra says, giving a little curtsey. She then shifts her gaze to Reaper. “It’s nice to know I’m appreciated.” She gives him time to respond, but she knows, as the seconds tick by, that if he hasn’t replied with some snide comment, then he won’t.</p>
<p>Making sure not to show any outward reaction that he didn't take her bait, she shifts her attention to the control panel. She brings up her interface, quickly finds the locking protocols, and unlocks the cell. Widowmaker is out first, practically sprinting with relief written on her face. Sigma follows, bowing his head as he passes. </p>
<p>Reaper saunters out last. He stops beside her, just for a moment, to quietly murmur, “Thank you.”</p>
<p>Sombra scoffs a laugh. Miracles do happen.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i wanted to add in a line about them being ordered not to kill, which is why they didn't just break out of the cell, but it didn't feel natural to add it in.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. "Back up!"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lúcio and Genji</p><p>warnings: gencio, background mekamechanic</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We saw a glimpse of Hana and Brigitte post-mission, but what about Lúcio and Genji...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The easiest way for Lúcio to figure out if he's in love is the way he grows silent around the person. </p><p>He’s usually chatty and would talk to a brick wall if given the opportunity. Words flow fairly easily for him—he can talk to Reinhardt about his questionable tastes in music for hours. He will chat with Hana about video games even though he hasn't really played them in years. He can have in-depth discussions about the universe with Winston.</p><p>But recently, being able to carry a conversation with Genji longer than three sentences has been a challenge.</p><p>It was fine when they met on their first mission together. It was fine in the days that followed. Genji is a cool guy, has a wicked dark sense of humour, and doesn't take things too seriously. They used to chat about everything; Genji's travels, Lucio's love of food. Music, holovids, football. <em> Everything. </em></p><p>Then, Lúcio noticed little things about Genji he hadn't noticed before, like the way his eyes crinkle at the edges when he laughs, or his roguish smile, or just how skilled he is on the training range. Chatting with him didn't become harder per se, Lúcio just found himself over analysing every single word, taking more care in what he was saying.</p><p><em> That </em> was when he realised he had a crush. </p><p>Following that revelation, he spent weeks wanting to ask Genji out but backed out every single time. Every day he would mentally kick himself when their conversations turned silent, and that silence only stretched because words refused to pass his lips.</p><p>He promised himself that he would tell Genji how he felt after his mission, but then Genji went and got himself hurt. It took a frank discussion with Hana to realise that these feelings are more than a crush, that he's in love with Genji and he wants to scream it from the rooftops.</p><p>Now that it’s the morning, he's headed for the infirmary. He doesn’t think more about what he wants to say because there is every likelihood that he will back out but he can’t, he <em>won’t</em>, not this time. </p><p>He passes Brigitte and Hana as they leave the medbay. Brigitte has her right arm in a sling, she smiles politely, but she's clearly tired. Hana grins but shakes her head, it seems she hasn’t told Brigitte how she feels yet. </p><p>Taking a deep breath, Lúcio steps through the infirmary doors. He settles on Genji, sitting up in his bed, and when their eyes meet, he all but races over. Taking Genji's hand, Lúcio opens his mouth to speak, to tell Genji how he feels… but the words won't leave his mouth.</p><p>So much for confessing.</p><p>"Hey," Genji says, smiling. "How are you?" </p><p>"Me?" Lúcio splutters. "How am I? I've been worried sick, I didn't sleep <em>at all </em>because I wanted to tell you how I feel and you went and got yourself <em>hurt, </em>and you're asking <em>me </em>how <em> I </em> am? You silly, <em> silly </em> man—"</p><p>"I love you too."</p><p>"I can't believe I nearly lost you—" Lúcio's brain finally catches up as Genji's words finally settle on him, breaking him free of his ranting. "Wait. Back up! You <em> what?!" </em></p><p>"I love you too," Genji says, as nonchalant as discussing the weather. "I've been waiting for you to catch up honestly because I thought we were on separate pages, but this little meltdown proves it."</p><p>"It's—it's <em> not </em> a meltdown." Lúcio then takes a breath to force himself to calm down. "Okay, fine, it was a little meltdown." His eyes flit to his hand in Genji's, and he smiles. The hesitation is gone, and in its place, determination. "I love you. I've loved you for a while and I should have said it earlier."</p><p>"Me too. I haven't felt this way about someone in a while and…” he pauses and gives a little shrug. “It's kind of scary."</p><p>Lúcio hums. He knows that feeling. "Good scary, I hope."</p><p>Genji smiles and nods. "I'm excited. I'm at my happiest when I'm with you."</p><p>"Me too," Lúcio breathes. He weaves his fingers between Genji's, lifting his hand to his mouth and kissing it. "I'm glad you're okay.” Then he frowns and points a stern finger at him. “But don't you<em> dare </em> do that to me again."</p><p>Genji grins. "I'll try not to."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. "Just say it."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lena and Emily</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It takes all of Lena’s willpower not to grimace.</p><p>She’s been dating Emily for a month now, and Em insisted on a gift to mark that anniversary. They’re still in that sweet honeymoon phase where there’s nothing but laughs and good times, but this might just kill it forever.</p><p>It’s a dress. It’s not that Lena is <em>against </em>dresses; she can rock a good cocktail dress and heels and bold jewellery and makeup like the next person. But this dress is an abomination. For one, it’s sunset orange and magenta and the two colours clash like they’re in a war for dominance as they zigzag all over the place. It has <em>frills </em>and asymmetrically cut, spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline. </p><p>Whoever made this must’ve either done it because they wanted a laugh, or it was spat out of hell and is a portal for demons to plague the earth.</p><p>Bloody <em>hell </em>it’s ugly.</p><p>“So, what do you think?”</p><p>Lena glances at Emily, her eyes are big and bright, her smile is wide. She doesn’t know if she can break Em’s heart. “It’s ah… it’s a dress.”</p><p>“It is! I saw you looking at it when we were out walking after dinner last week, you looked at it like you desperately wanted it and well…” Emily holds it at the waist. “I’d thought I’d get it for you.”</p><p>“Oh my…” Lena remembers that moment, walking down the street as it started to lightly snow. They were on a date and it was perfect. Then they walked past the boutique, she gazed upon this sin of clothing, thought about breaking into the shop to set it on fire and send it back to whence it came and spare the rest of humanity from gazing upon it.</p><p>Emily must’ve seen <em>that </em>look, <em> not </em>the horror that was written on her face <em>before </em>she had to quash the urge to commit larceny and arson.</p><p>“You really shouldn't have,” Lena says. Emily frowns, and Lena backpedals; she can’t tell Em she hates it. “I’m—I’m never going to wear it.” </p><p>“We can go somewhere nice,” Emily says. “Try it on! I bet you’ll look amazing.”</p><p>“I…” Lena glances at the dress. There is <em>no way </em>she’s wearing this. Emily needs to take it back and hopefully get her money back. “Look, Em… this is nice but…”</p><p>“But?”</p><p>“But…” Lena grimaces, hoping it doesn’t hurt Emily’s feelings. </p><p>Emily smiles. It’s not a protective mechanism, it almost looks like <em>relief. </em> Is it possible that Emily hates it too? “Just say it.”</p><p>Taking a breath, Lena says, “This is the most hideous dress I’ve ever seen. I want to burn it, here and now—” Lena watches as Emily doubles over laughing. “Em?”</p><p>“Oh my <em> God </em> right? This thing is <em>hideous</em>.”</p><p>Lena can't help but laugh alongside Emily. Tears well in her eyes. “Who would wear this?”</p><p>“I don’t know, I don’t <em>know</em>,” Emily sighs. “I was <em> worried </em> you liked it.”</p><p>“Then why did you buy it?” </p><p>“You looked at it like you needed it.”</p><p>Lena fights a tide of giggles. “I wanted to <em>burn</em> it.”</p><p>“You’ve said,” Emily breathes, wrapping her arms around Lena’s neck. “We can if you want.”</p><p>“It from a boutique, it can’t be cheap.” Lena looks at the tag, flipping it over to reveal its five hundred credit price. “Holy—no, we <em>return </em>this. I want to touch it, but I’m not <em> that </em> desperate.”</p><p>Emily hums. “Well, I am pleased that you in fact despise this. If you’d have liked it, I think I might’ve had to break up with you.”</p><p>“God, I love you so much.”</p><p>Emily kisses Lena’s cheek. “I know.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Inspired by a scene out of Deep Space Nine.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. "I trust you."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ashe and Jesse</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Something a little fluffy for how much the first one hurt 💖</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ashe huffs as she turns over in bed.</p><p>It isn’t <em>fair</em>. Her parents are home this Halloween and forbade her from trick or treating because of her slipping grades. They’re <em>absent</em> for most of the year, and the one holiday she’s been looking forward to they put their foot down.</p><p>It’s so fucking unfair.</p><p>Fighting the urge to scream, she rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling. She could sneak out, but Bob is watching guard and has been ordered to stop her at all costs. And he will; it wouldn't be the first time he’s been posted outside her door and stopped her from sneaking out.</p><p>She can’t climb out of her window, either. Her bedroom is on the second floor, there’s no way she can get down safely without jumping straight down, and she’s smart enough not to try it.</p><p>Although, she’s considering it quite heavily right now. That’ll teach her parents—the potential for broken bones will be worth rubbing it into her parents’ faces that she won’t be caged.</p><p>She hears a <em>tink </em>against her window, and she turns her head. After a moment, another. Rushing over, she lifts the window, seeing Jesse down below. He’s dressed up like a skeleton, even down to the makeup on his face. </p><p>She smiles down at him. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“I’m here to bust you out. We’re going trick or treating.” Jesse holds out two buckets shaped like jack-o'-lanterns. “Come down.”</p><p>Ashe sighs. “Can’t. Bob’s outside my door. They've ordered him to rat on me.”</p><p>“Jump down.”</p><p>“Jesse—”</p><p>“I’ll catch you.”</p><p>“I am <em> not </em> jumping down.” Tapping the windowsill, Ashe thinks about how she can get down. She looks at her bed and is struck with inspiration. “Give me a sec.”</p><p>She rushes over to her bed, pulling the sheets off. She knots them together, then ties one end to the foot of her bed and tosses it outside. It only makes it halfway down the side of the house, but it should be enough to jump down without injury. </p><p>“Okay, give me five minutes,” she says. </p><p>“Liz—”</p><p>“Five!” She rushes to her closet, dressing quickly in all black. She does her makeup, thick eyeliner, bold lipstick, and completes the look with a witch’s hat. It's low effort compared to her original idea but this works. With a nod to her reflection, she races to the window and tugs on the sheet. “Okay.” </p><p>“Take it slow,” Jesse says.</p><p>With a nod and a slow, steady breath, she climbs onto her windowsill. She wraps the sheet around her hand and carefully climbs out of the window. This is possibly the stupidest thing she’s ever done, but she’s committed; she won't be caged. She shuffles down, every movement has her praying that the sheet doesn't come loose from the bed. Soon enough, though, she reaches the end of the sheet.</p><p>“I don’t have any more.”</p><p>“Just jump,” Jesse says. “I’ll catch you.”</p><p>“Stop it with the catching,” Ashe mutters. “I’ll <em> hurt </em> you.”</p><p>“You’re as light as a feather.”</p><p>“Jesse.”</p><p>“Do you trust me?”</p><p>Ashe looks down at Jesse with his arms outstretched. He smiles and nods. It’s reassuring and calms her nerves. She can do this. “I trust you.”</p><p>Taking a breath, she lets go of the sheet. She lands on her feet and is quickly in Jesse’s tight embrace. Smiling wide, she looks up at him as he looks down at her.</p><p>“I’ve got you,” Jesse whispers.</p><p>“Thank you,” Ashe says, wrapping her arms around him. “You’re a great friend. The only person who’s got my back.”</p><p>Jesse holds her that little bit tighter. "Always."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm on <a href="https://twitter.com/BeanChillie">Twitter</a> and <a href="https://www.pillowfort.social/ChillieBean">PillowFort!</a> Come say hi!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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